


Kingdom By the Sea

by crossfirehurricane



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-04 09:16:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossfirehurricane/pseuds/crossfirehurricane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Lyanna stole a glance over at Robert, who lay on his back panting, smirking. It is all unlike before, she notes. Rhaegar was gentle. He treated her like glass, careful not to push too hard or press upon her. But then, that was their first and only time. But what if they had done it again? How much different would it be? What if she had run with him, like he asked?"</p><p>Lyanna Stark refuses to run away with Rhaegar, and instead accepts her fate as Robert's wife. A glimpse into a universe where difficult choices are made, and those who make them are faced with the differences they make.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i - the bedding

**Author's Note:**

> _Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,_   
>  _And sorry I could not travel both_
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> two fics at once?! this is dangerous territory for me. but, this one will be short and sweet, and it's more of a collection of drabbles than fluid story. enjoy!

Men, strangers, clutched and tugged at her wedding dress, ripping pieces of the Northern tailored dress and leaving it in shreds on the floor. Lyanna snapped at a hand that brushed her bare skin, snarling and baring her teeth in a manner that forced one of the men to acknowledge that she was a she-wolf, though perhaps in crueler words. She longed for Brandon then, who so wanted to be a part of the bedding ceremony so as to protect her from all this, but her father had staunchly disapproved. "It is tradition," he said. "Tradition shall not be broken."

Once undressed and properly miffed Lyanna was hauled off to her marriage chambers where she awaited her husband. Robert had been laughing merrily all evening, with dearest Ned at his side monitoring how much drink went into his body and when enough was enough. Being the man of little restraint as he was, that time came early, and Ned was shooing the wine-bearer away the rest of the evening.

As she wrapped her arms around her bare self she realized that she wanted her brothers now, all three of them, to be there always to provide sanctuary for her in this strange home with a brute for a husband. Brandon, who swore he'd kill Robert if he hurt her, would be her protector, her wall, as he always was. Ned would be the listening ears and helpful advice, reminding her to maintain her honor and remember her duty. And Benjen, young Benjen, who resided in Winterfell as the rest of the Starks were away, would be her partners, her shadow, rustling up trouble with her forever and always.

Outside, she heard the soft sounds of distant waves crashing against stone, beating at the structure that held the castle so far up in the sky, and so far away from the sea. She had always known Storm's End to be Robert's- it was his land, his people, his castle. Now, it was theirs. Their land. Their people. Their castle. She had been transformed into a Lady of Storm's End, a Baratheon, and now she would be made to lay with one.

The door opened, drowning out the sea's sighs by inviting the noise outside in- japes and bawdy suggestions poured through the open door, along with Robert’s thunderous laugh. Lyanna kept her back to the door, curling in on herself so as to keep eyes off her. It was not until the door closed, muffling the noise, did she turn to look at her husband. Robert walked toward her with a lazy grin on his handsome face, his strong body bared, with muscle rippling at every motion. Every inch of him was hard and toned, the product of relentless training with a hammer heavier than most swords. Despite her distaste for him, Lyanna could not deny the primal attraction she felt toward him. He was tall, taller than she by over a foot, as wide as a bull and as strong as one. His dark hair curled at the nape of his neck and contrasted nicely with those deep sapphires he had for eyes. He was wonderful to look at, but Lyanna knew him better than that. He was a brute, a liar, and a whoremonger and she wanted nothing to do with him.

But still, she could not disguise how her heart beated so furiously, pushing the sound of the waves outside even further from her ears. Robert's easy smile rested on her, warming her skin as his eyes scanned. She was covering the parts he likely most wanted to see, which was a silly act on her part. He was bound to see it all throughout the years- why not start now? Her arms slipped from across her chest and she stood for him, pulling herself tall so she did not seem so tiny beside him. But when he reached her she was dwarfed once again, her shadow a tiny sliver compared to his.

"My lady," Robert crooned in a tone that almost seemed mocking. He only ever called her by her name.

"My lord," she said, returning the formality. She felt a warmth rise to her cheeks as his eyes looked her up and down, drinking in her every feature. He lingered too long in this task, and she snapped, "Shall I turn around for you too?"

He laughed his infuriating laugh. "I would not protest."

She felt her face burn, warmer than it had when Rhaegar had seen her so bare. But he had undressed her himself then, gently and slowly, in the comfort of her godswood and under the cover of the heart tree. "Don't be embarrassed," he told her then. "You are beautiful."

Robert's rough hands grasped her waist then, pulling her off her feet and up to his eye-level. She took a cue then to wrap her trembling legs around him and lay tentative hands on his corded shoulders. Her heart began to race at the proximity, and she cursed its loudness.

"I'm your first, aren't I?" He asked in a low, husky voice. His mouth hovered centimeters over hers, his breath hot on her lips. It was so typical of a man, to assess if the woman he was going to bed was as unsullied as a septa, as if he was to be the one to set the standard for every other lay afterward. Even Rhaegar asked the question, though in gentler terms.

"Of course," she answered hesitantly, knowing very well that was what he wished to hear.

He seemed to misunderstand her hesitation for fear. "Don't be frightened," he said softly. "I won't hurt you."

Lyanna's breath hitched in her throat as Robert's mouth covered hers, moving to taste her. It was surprisingly easy to melt into his kisses, to relax in his strong arms, and enjoy the moment. Even when he had her on the bed she did not feel fear; his hands ghosted over her skin, caressing her with a tenderness that was undeniably familiar. When his fingers reached between her legs she gave a moan that Robert returned with his frustrating laugh.

Soon, skin met skin and the two melded into each other. Lyanna took it in stride. She seized pleasure from him, dragging her nails down his back and pulling at his hair, relishing in the noises he paid her as a reward. He was loud; Lyanna decided she didn't mind that. His large, calloused hands first cradled her hips before moving up and down her lithe form, touching, prodding, exploring. Lyanna didn't mind that either. It was lovemaking, after all, and she was condemned to perform it with the man currently between her legs for the rest of her years- she'd be mad not to try and enjoy it. And she did enjoy it.

When she reaches her peak, it is with a gasp that Robert swallows with a kiss. His lips trail down her jaw, to the crook of her neck, where they remain, his breath hot and wet on her skin, until he concludes with a groan that he muffles against her shoulder. His teeth graze her skin, and she shudders, surprised at the pleasure it incurred.

He is slow to move off her, still kissing her mouth, cheek, collar. But when he does, Lyanna exhales, and only then she is aware that he had put much weight on her. Yet, it didn't perturb her. It felt good, having the bulk of him pressing upon her. It was different than before. But then, there was a lot different from before.

Lyanna stole a glance over at Robert, who lay on his back panting, smirking. It is all unlike before, she notes. Rhaegar was gentle. He treated her like glass, careful not to push too hard or press upon her. But then, that was their first and only time. But what if they had done it again? How much different would it be?

What if she had run with him, like he asked?

Two hands grasp her hips and suddenly she is above Robert, straddling his waist. He grins up at her, that ever-present devilish twinkle in his eye shining brighter than before. Though she could not say why, she felt her heart race at its glimmer.

"You like riding, don't you?" He asked her, shifting his hips underneath her. The question was an innocent one, but coming out of his mouth it seemed incredibly vulgar.

Lyanna nodded meekly in response, an unbidden blush rising to her face at Robert's gaze. He was studying her, she realized, as if she were a horse he was preparing to purchase. He didn't seem to catch her nod, his eyes too focused on her breasts, his hands running up and down her thighs, traveling as far up as her flat middle, palming it. Out of frustration, she dug her nails into his chest, drawing his eyes back to her face and stilling his hands on her hips.

"Yes, I do like riding," she hissed through gritted teeth. Robert laughed at her anger- Oh! That laugh! It drove her _mad_.

"Then ride," he stated, lifting her hips and guiding himself inside her. And thus, Lyanna rode, finding it exceedingly satisfying that he let her take control, and made no effort to keep quiet about it. “Listen to you howl!” Robert had teased her at one point, but Lyanna did not cease, and his laughter afterward was cut short by his groans.

Later, when both were sated, Lyanna would lay in his arms and imagine someone else's embrace. It was only once, yet everything Rhaegar did had branded itself into the inside of her mind. His kisses, his soft smile, his whispers in her ear- everything that had warmed her during their tryst in the godswood, and the proposition that chilled her afterward.

She felt the stubble of Robert's beard scratch against her forehead as he shifted in his sleep. A large hand was buried in her hair, lacing itself with curls, while the other pushed firmly against her back, pressing her as close to him as she could get. Their skin clung to each other, bonded by heat and moisture, and when Lyanna tried to shift away, they seemed to draw each other back in again.

It was different, but was it better? The two were similar in temperament: stubborn, pugnacious creatures who sought out love as if it were flighty prey that eluded a hunter. But while Lyanna could loose one arrow and become satisfied, Robert required trophies on top of sustenance, tokens that whetted his appetite briefly before he required another. And how long would it be before he grew hungry again, but for a different taste? 

Lyanna did not like to dwell on the matter. She wanted to find security in her husband, yet she knew she would find none- and to search for it elsewhere would be dangerous. The only certainty in their union was fighting: explosive arguments that would end with her alone and fuming, and drives an arrogant Robert to another woman’s bed. But if that an unavoidable aspect of their enigmatic personalities, then she would have to find other pleasures in the man who held her so dearly now- find them, and cling to it desperately.

“Do not hurt me,” she found herself whispering into her husband’s chest, tasting the salt on his skin. “Or I shall make you regret it.” To emphasize her point, she digs her nails into his muscled arms and sinks her teeth down into his collarbone.

Robert growls in his sleep. Lyanna places a chaste kiss where she had bit, then closes her eyes. Outside, Robert's sea still roared and moved, lapping against the stone that cradled Robert's keep. Aye, it was still his, she realized. Storm's End does not belong to her. Nothing here belonged to her. Then, not for the first time since she left it, she wishes for Winterfell. Her Winterfell.

The waters lulled her to sleep with her lips still on his skin.


	2. ii - the honeymoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna and Robert go to an unorthodox place for a honeymoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy! if you're reading my other fic... it's coming soon enough!

The land’s bouquet of earth and dew was the grandest aroma to wake up to.

Lyanna sat up in the bedroll she shared with Robert, her eyes hardly open, to raise her arms above her head for a languid stretch. The brisk air nipped at her skin, cooling her warm body until a pair of hands pulled her down. She came face-to-face with her husband, his eyes still heavy with the dust of sleep. 

“G’morn,” he murmured indolently before kissing her full on the mouth. When they pulled away from each other, it was with much hesitation; but the sun had already come up, and breakfast had to be hunted for. 

“I will go find us something to eat,” she said, still hovering above his lips. “You stay and rest a little more.”

“I don’t like you going out alone,” he responded with the slightest frown, his grip on her arms tightening. “Wait a minute, I’ll-“

“You’ll catch up later,” she interrupted with a smile. She peeled herself off him and out of the bedroll, taking her first steps for the day. She feels Robert’s eyes on her bare body as she finds clothes to dress in; in retaliation, she is deliberate in pulling her clothes on, teasing him from afar.

“Woman!” he calls out to her, likely driven mad by her actions but too lazy to drag himself out of bed. Lyanna laughs at him as she ties the strings on her trousers and her shirt. After tugging on boots, she finds her bow and a quiver of arrows lying in a corner of their tent, picks them up, and steps out of their little home.

The beginnings of morning light dappled through the forest, squeezing itself in the crevices that the thick canopy allowed and reflecting off the pond nearby. She inhaled the air of a new day; the air had a different feel to it down in the South, but Lyanna discovered that their forest air was surprisingly cool. Not as cool as Winterfell, but it reminded her of home regardless. The leaves crunched underfoot as she stepped away from their little haven and out into the wilderness.

How they ended up here, in this thick woods somewhere in the Stormlands, was a feat that Lyanna took full responsibility for. It was the day after her wedding, and she had and Robert had gone to see her family off as they left to Riverrun for Brandon’s wedding.

She began to sob as soon as her father embraced her. His broad chest and wide arms had enveloped her entirely, as they used to when she was a child and he seemed larger than life. After he shared a few encouraging words- and they were only a few, as her father was not a man fond of speaking –he sent her into Ned’s arms, who held her close and kissed her temple.

“I’ll come see you,” he had whispered to her before kissing both of her wet cheeks. Lyanna clung to him until Brandon pulled her away. He picked her feet up off her ground and twirled her once, urging her to laugh and smile for him. Then he pressed her to his chest, holding her tighter than even Benjen had when she left, unwilling to let her go until their father scolded him, insisting that they had get on their way. It was then that he loosened his arms and kissed her forehead. Then he put his mouth to her ear to speak to her in as much privacy as he could muster with three onlookers. 

“Be good for Robert now,” he said mockingly, turning into the irritating Brandon she had quarreled with for years. “If what they say about him is true, I expect you’ll give him a son every year, sweet sister, and I’ll be disappointed if you don’t.”

Lyanna pushed him away from her, garnering a raucous laugh from her eldest brother. 

“You ought to worry about how many sons your own wife will give you before you worry about me,” she hissed back, glaring at him through bleary eyes. She saw his smile falter for the slightest moment, but that was enough; she knew her brother dreaded his own marriage to the Tully girl more than Lyanna had fretted over Robert. Lyanna did not understand why. He was a man, a first son, no less, and he received the sweeter end of the arrangement: all of the North and a pretty girl in his bed. But Brandon was wilder than her, and the chains of matrimony cut him deeper.

The men mounted their horses to set out for Riverrun. Through her tears, which had begun to flow again, she caught a mischievous wink from Brandon before all see could see was their blurry back sets against a bright horizon.

Later that day Lyanna watched as servants packed away her things for a honeymoon Robert had planned; colorful dresses, shoes that looked terribly uncomfortable, chemises, smallclothes, night shifts- all was packed away for a trip throughout the South. They would travel through the Stormlands, the Reach, stopping in Highgarden to visit the Tyrells, the Eyrie to see Jon Arryn, the Searoad to spend a few nights by the Sunset Sea, and the Roseroad to visit Oldtown.

Robert likely meant to use the trip as an opportunity to show off to her, to the girl who knew so little about the South. But that much moving around meant that there would be plenty of opportunities to slip away- opportunities Lyanna had no doubt her husband would peruse to go and carouse with a whore or two. And thus, with this knowledge firmly at hand, Lyanna had approached him the night before their departure, after he had bedded her, and told him what was on her mind.

“Why in Seven Hells would you not want to go?” he demanded of her with fiery eyes and flared nostrils. “I had it planned for the longest time- don’t you want a honeymoon?”

“It is not that I do not want a honeymoon,” she said with a frown of her own. “But this is too grand. I do not want to go to all these places and meet all these lords and ladies-“

“Then don’t meet them! Gods be good, if that is the issue then do not speak to them. We’ll skip Highgarden and the Tyrells if you’d like, but I had always thought you were fond of flowers. Aren’t you?” Robert had been caught between anger and exasperation with her, as short as his temper and patience was. Lyanna had fallen silent at this outburst, and turned her face from him. She did not wish to argue so early in the their marriage. An unsettling lull passed between the two that was not broken until Robert held her chin and turned it toward him again. “What would you like, then? I’ll do whatever you like,” he relented in a defeated tone, evidently unwilling to argue as well. 

“A hunting trip,” she heard herself say, though it was not through conscious thought. It had slipped out. 

She remembered how Robert had furrowed his brows, confused by the response, before he threw his head back and guffawed. Lyanna did not find anything quite so amusing, but when he quit his laughter he was smiling at her. 

“A hunting trip, then. I know a place,” he said, and Lyanna smiled for him too. He pulled her into his lap then and kissed her. “Would that I could understand you, Lya,” he murmured to her between pecks, and Lyanna laughed.

Thus, they were settled three weeks already in a clearing in Rainwood that few people knew the location of; only the steward, Robert’s brothers, and a messenger had the information on hand. Here they pitched a modest tent and brought only the essentials: bows, plenty of arrows, knives, flint, beer, and Robert’s war hammer, which he would not travel without. Not a single dress nor heel was included in the single chest of clothes they brought along: only shirts and trousers and boots.

Perhaps it was dangerous for the lord and lady of Storm’s End to travel so far on their own, and to such a vulnerable spot, but Robert refused to bring any guards along, insisting that he would do the protecting. In truth, Lyanna was glad for it, though she knew it was only to show off. The time they had spent so far together had done well to shake her initial impressions regarding Robert. What had begun as a regretful union became something more. Lyanna found it remarkably easy to jape and laugh with Robert- and even easier to fall into bed with. It was there that perhaps they had their greatest similarity: their love for pleasures simple and grand warmed their little tent at night, and she often found herself as hungry for his attentions as he was hers, and sometimes even hungrier. 

But perhaps being surrounded by wilderness bolstered that physical aspect of their relationship. If that were to come to pass, there would be nothing between them; little had occurred between the two to result in a true emotional connection. They did not speak of heavy matters, choosing jest over thoughtful conversation. Perhaps they lacked the fortitude for that, and made up for it in passionate evenings, but Lyanna could not say she dreaded Robert’s advances anymore. In a word, Lyanna was comfortable with her lord husband. Comfortable, but not yet wholly content. She still found herself thinking back to Rhaegar’s letters, hidden beneath the floorboards in her chambers at Winterfell, and the heartfelt, honest thoughts detailed in them

Lyanna hears a rustle behind her, the crunch of leaves, and she turns on her heel, aiming her bow at the creature stalking her.

“Oi, put that down,” Robert’s voice warned as he stepped into the light. “You wouldn’t kill your own lord husband, would you?" 

“I would if he wronged me,” she returns with a smile, not yet lowering her bow. “And I’d skin him and have him for breakfast.”

He walks toward her with a glimmer in his eye, taking slow, deliberate steps until the tip of her arrow pokes his chest. Lyanna does not yield; she meets his eye and lets out a little chuckle despite her attempts to behave solemnly.

“You wouldn’t kill me. You’d miss me if you killed me.” He grins the grin of an arrogant man, the sort of smile that implied virility and excellence at all he did. For his big-headedness, Lyanna digs the tip of her arrow little deeper.

“What would I miss that I cannot find in another man?” she returns with an arch of her brow. “A fine face, a strong body, dim wits- I’ve met many of your sort. My dearest Robert, you are not so special.”

A silence passed between them. Robert looked at her with a wild look in his eye, an impassioned creature ready to pounce, and Lyanna held her ground with hard eyes and a stiff upper lip. Her eyes only flitted briefly from his face to his chest, where a tiny droplet of blood slid down her arrowhead and to the ground below. He did not complain though, and Lyanna did not mention it.

“You did not kiss me earlier,” Robert mumbled after some time, still locking eyes with her. “My morning kiss.”

Lyanna lowered her bow, sheathed her arrow, and rushed into his arms to give him the kiss he so desired. He kissed her mouth generously, holding him close to her so that she may not wriggle away before he had his fill. He was more ardent in these woods, being so far away from other women and thus forced to confine his attentions to his wife. It would be a whole moon of this, him wanting her because there was no one else, kissing her and bedding her with the appetite of a starved prisoner. Lyanna accepted this love gladly, bending to his will, knowing that once they return to civilization, it may not be so focused. 

When they pulled away, Lyanna found a spot of blood staining the collar of her shirt. Her eyes flitted back up to Robert’s chest, where a similar, larger blot mirrored hers. Lyanna bit her lip, feeling guilty. 

“My apologies,” she mumbled, reaching out to rub at the blood.

“I’ve a feeling it won’t be the last time you’ll bleed me,” Robert retorted with his wicked smile, and Lyanna swatted at his chest in retaliation, garnering a pleasing ‘oof’. Her eyes flitted to his hip now, and noted something out of place.

“Have you forgotten your war hammer?” she asked, pulling at the strap meant to house it.

Robert blinked, surprised. “Aye, it seems I did. I ought to go back, then.” As he turned to leave, Lyanna tugged at his shirt.

“What do you need it for? Do you plan to beat our breakfast to death? Leave it, Robert. Let’s not waste daylight.” 

Without another cue, the two fell into routine. They slung their bows and quivers over their backs and walked through the woods with their senses heightened, eyes catching the slightest movement and ears hearing the smallest sounds. Pickings were scarce that morning, which was unlike any other day before. Within an hour they had only caught a single hare, large enough only to satisfy a man half as ravenous as Robert.

A chill passed over her as she suddenly realized how silent the forest was. It was completely still: the leaves did not rustle, the grass did not sway, and the branches stood stiff, as if scared to move. Nature had always struck a sort of fear into her, but it was always a good fear, a reminder that there was something in the world as untamed as herself. But this felt different. She turned to Robert a ways off to the side. 

“Robert-“

The words did not yet leave her lips until a monstrous groan echoed throughout the woods. Lyanna whipped around, an arrow readied in her bow, and looked with disbelief at what came crashing toward them. 

It was a stag, an incredibly enormous one, with antlers tall and honed like twin swords resting upon the beast’s head. It leaned them forward now with intent to pierce- and he was heading right toward Robert. 

The twang of a loosed arrow came from his direction, but it only grazed the creature that grunted and wheezed at an unearthly volume. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Robert put his hand to his hip, reaching for a war hammer that was not there.

Suddenly, a grisly wheeze filled the forest, and the creature fell to the ground with an echoing thud. It was not until her lungs filled with air again did Lyanna realize than an arrow impaled the stag through one temple and out the other, and that the arrow that had been propped her in bow was no longer there. She walked to the fallen creature that laid not a foot before Robert, kneeling down before it. It was even larger up close, at least eight feet in length and incredibly huge in its girth. She trailed a hand up its belly to its tall antlers propped upon its head. A pool of blood was already underneath its grand head with its pink tongue hanging out to dip in it.

“That ought to do us well for the day, don’t you think?” Lyanna asked, looking up at Robert. He gave her an incredulous look, eyes wide and jaw slack, mesmerized at her. Then, with a quick shake of his head, he threw off his shocked expression and responded to her.

“I uh… I suppose it will, aye,” he mumbled.

The day passed relatively quiet after that. The two shared little conversation, going about their day without getting too much in each other’s way. As foretold, they dined on venison for breakfast and later for dinner, filling them up until they were quite full. Robert’s thunderous laughter and his bawdy stories were absent from tonight’s meal; he chose to quietly eat instead, keeping the thoughts that accompanied his thoughtful expression to himself. Lyanna found that she had missed the ruckus, but stayed silent as well.

When they retired to their tent, Lyanna began to undress, stripping herself of her trousers and shirt and helping herself into a small nightshift instead. It was a thin, short thing that hardly covered her rump, but she knew very well that Robert would be ridding her of it soon enough. But her husband did not touch her once she let her hair down and pulled on the shift, and instead dressed in the trousers he wore to bed and slid into the bedroll, his eyes still somewhere distant. Lyanna slipped in beside him, and turned her back to him. 

After some time, his rough hands brushed her shoulder, feeling down to her elbow where he pulled her onto her back. Robert climbed on top of her, a motion that was familiar enough, and pushed up her nightshift. Her hands went to his hair, taking hold of it. Robert’s mouth went to her stomach, kissing her, chafing her skin with his beard, before settling his lips between her breasts. Then he paused there, his breath warming her skin, and did not move.

“Robert?” she asked softly, wondering if he had managed to fall asleep. But then he tilted his head up, resting her chin on her breastbone, and met her eye.

“You saved my life today,” he whispered to her in a hoarse voice, looking up at her with a queer expression.

“I did not,” Lyanna insisted with a blush. 

“Yes, you did,” he said. He got off her and sat up, then reached a hand out to her to have her do the same. She accepted it, sitting up beside him and pulled down her nightshift as she did so. “If you hadn’t shot it, I would be rotting in the woods with a pair of antlers in my gut. Can you imagine? They’d have to change our sigil.”

Lyanna laughed at that, though he did not. He only stared at her gravely, seriously, honestly. 

“You are too stubborn to have died in such a way.” Lyanna said lightheartedly. “You likely would have caught it by the antlers and wrestled it to the ground before accepting defeat. Even if it did strike you, you would have walked away with no more than a scar. You’ve plenty of them already. I even gave you one today, did I not?” Lyanna poked at the pink line on his chest where the tip of her arrow cut into it and smiled, hoping to inspire a similar expression in her husband. But he did not mirror her. He only continued to stare. Thus, Lyanna fell solemn as well, and searched for her husband’s blue eyes in the dark. “It is nothing, Robert. I could not have allowed such a beast to fell the father of my child.” 

Lyanna watched as a hundred emotions flashed through his eyes before they ultimately widened in disbelief. 

“Child?” he asked, unbelieving. “Are you saying…? You are…?” The mad look in his eyes forced her to bite back a chuckle 

“Yes, my lord. I’m with child.”

Suddenly she was up in the air, bumping her head on the canvas of the tent as Robert held her up by the waist. He hooted and hollered and spun her around before lowered her to where she was cradled in his arms as her kissed her mouth feverishly.

“A child! A child!” he cried out, followed by a short laugh. “Tell me, is it from our wedding night? It is, is it not?”

Lyanna reflected on his question, wondering at the answer to it. Had it been from their wedding night? That had been nearly a moon ago. The timing might have matched up, but she did not dwell on it.

“I suppose it is,” she responded, and he replied with nonsense regarding the strength of the Baratheon seed. 

“We ought to get home, then. We’ll leave tomorrow,” Robert announced, and Lyanna quickly became upset. 

“It has only been 3 weeks that we’re here. You promised me an entire moon, Robert,” she fretted, frowning at that. She had enjoyed their time together in Rainwood immensely, a place which reminded her so much of home, and dreaded going back to Storm’s End, a place so unfamiliar. 

“We are going. You need to see a maester,” Robert maintained. “In any case, by the time we get back it will almost be a moon.” Lyanna frowned and buried her face in his chest, still unhappy. The honeymoon had been a dream; one she knew she would leave, but not so early. “Don’t fret, Lya. I’m going to hold a tourney for our babe when we get back. Our fun isn’t over yet.”

But it is, she wanted to reply back to him.

He took her back to the bedroll with his face still beaming, holding her to his chest, as one hand was splayed over her middle, cradling the bump that was not yet there. As he held her, kissed her shoulder, nuzzled her neck, Lyanna wondered. She wondered whether it would be a boy or girl, if it would like riding and swordplay as she did, or would grow to be a proud diplomat, unlike both its parents. She wondered if it would have her grey eyes or Robert’s blue ones, if it would have her brown curls or Robert’s fine black hair. But above all, Lyanna wondered if it was to be none of this. That, instead, the child was to be born with silvery hair and violet eyes, and would take quicker to a harp than to a sword.

“We’re having a babe. Our babe,” Robert whispered in her ear, his voice sluggish and groggy with sleep. 

It was definitely a babe, but whether it was theirs, Lyanna did not know.


	3. iii - the wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The couple attends a second wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy!

Lyanna could not recall the steward’s name, but upon their entrance to the castle, he was the first to greet the couple.

“My lord,” he said, bowing to Robert. “Welcome back. You’re early.”

“Aye, it couldn’t be helped,” Robert said. Lyanna could tell he was to reveal their news, seeing as he was already beaming. “My lady is with child.” The hand he placed on her neck, coupled with his wicked grin, prompted a blush to rise to Lyanna’s cheeks, though she hardly comprehend why.

“That is good news, my lord,” the steward replied, though he remained unsmiling.

“You’ve got a tourney to plan now, Wallace,” Robert added, still grinning.

Wallace- _that_ was his name. The man nodded.

“I would speak to you in private, my lord,” he said, his eyes flitting to Lyanna than back to Robert. Already, Lyanna sensed something was amiss. Robert had raised his brows and scratched at his beard before he moved as if to take leave of her. Just then, Lyanna reached out to grab his sleeve, stilling him.

“Why must it be private? Can’t I hear it too?” she asked of him. If she was to be lady of Storm’s End, she deserved to hear confidential information as much as her lord husband. She would not be excluded. Robert’s eyes moved to the steward, as if asking his permission.

“It is about your goodbrother Brandon Stark, my lord,” the steward replied to Robert, not her. Upon hearing his words, however, her heart began to race furiously as hundreds of thoughts rushed through her head.

“If it concerns my brother, then I must insist that I hear it firsthand from you, my lord,” Lyanna said to the steward, though her voice quaked as she did so. _Why am I so fearful?_ she asked herself. _Surely, it is nothing..._ But Lyanna knew her brother to be foolish and rash; she knew it would worry her all day if she did not hear it now.

“It is my lord’s decision,” the steward said flatly.

Lyanna looked to Robert with wide eyes urging him to make the correct choice. He looked back at her, and, in a gesture that was more brotherly than spousal, he tousled her hair.

“Come along, then,” he said to her. “Let’s see what your brother has done now.”

Lyanna trailed after the two men as they walked into the steward’s solar. The steward sat at one side of the table, and Lyanna and Robert were on the other, side by side. As soon as they were settled, Robert’s hand found her leg from under the table, and he rested it on her knee, rubbing it softly. Lyanna was at a loss; she simply sat and stared at the steward, hoping that her face did not turn red. His gaze was focused on Robert instead, and his body was turned toward him also. _It is as if he isn’t speaking to me,_ she realized, and despised him for it.

“Lord Brandon Stark had disappeared,” the man said, his focus still on Robert, and Lyanna felt the room spin. Her mouth went dry and her eyes were wide, and for a moment she could not breathe. It seemed hours before the steward spoke again. “It was on the road to Riverrun, only a few days after your departure, my lord, and he was suddenly nowhere to be found. They searched for him wildly for a couple of weeks-“

“Where is he?” Lyanna asked frantically, interrupting him. He gave her a dirty look for it. “Did they find him?”

“He sent a letter to his lord father after some time, alerting him that he had gone to the Free Cities. He renounced his title as heir to Winterfell, and said that he did not intend to wed Lady Catelyn.”

“The Free Cities?” Lyanna rasped, bewildered. “Brandon never…” Never mentioned the Free Cities- he never even mentioned running away. It had always seemed to Lyanna that he would accept his fate as the wedded Lord of Winterfell; it appeared that she had underestimated her wild brother. He had done what she couldn’t do.

“Running from his problems, is he?” Robert remarked with a short laugh. “Can’t say I’ve heard of a man who’d refuse to wed a girl. A pretty girl, at that.”

Catelyn! Poor girl! Lyanna could only wonder at her reaction, and the thoughts that must be rushing through her head.

“What is to become of Lady Catelyn?” Lyanna asked the steward, ignoring Robert’s comment.

“It has been decided that she will wed Lord Eddard Stark, since he is now the heir to the North,” the steward replied, still not looking to Lyanna. “Their wedding will be held in a week’s time.”

“Ned’s getting married?!” Robert exclaimed suddenly, pushing his chair back as he stood up. “Damn it, Wallace, why didn’t you send me a message earlier? We’d had left Rainwood a week ago if that had been the case.”

“My apologies, my lord,” Wallace replied. “I did not want to interrupt your honeymoon.”

“Ah, the Others take our honeymoon!” he exclaimed, prompting Lyanna to furrow her brows. “If Ned’s getting married I ought to be the first to know. Seven Hells- how long does it take to get to Riverrun from here?”

“Five, six days, my lord,” the steward replied.

“Get everything ready by tomorrow morning. We’re going to Ned’s wedding, damn it all,” Robert demanded, causing his worn steward to give a sigh and nod.

“Yes, my lord.”

Lyanna was still a little overwhelmed from the slew of new information. She sat at the table and stared at her hands, mulling over all that she had been told.

That Brandon would shirk his responsibilities should not have come at such a shock. He never did like the diplomacy and overseeing that a lord was expected to do; he would duck these jobs at every opportunity, choosing instead to go riding and hunting over writing and listening. Father despised that trait in him, insisting that he had to grow up and accept his burden one day, and Brandon would brush it off and insist that he would do what he needed to when his time came.

And Catelyn- he had spoken so highly of her when he went to see her. “She is beautiful and lovely and ladylike,” Brandon had told her. “Unlike you.” She could not imagine that he would want to get away from her too. But Lyanna had known his type: Brandon liked wild girls who acted on a whim, who didn’t mind the unorthodox and the unladylike. Even though Catelyn did not conform to this definition, he would not have minded. Lyanna knew he would find other girls if he was so inclined.

Honor and duty never meant much to her wild brother. Consequences meant even less.

Lyanna thought she was the same.

"What of the tourney, Robert?" Lyanna asks him in a soft voice.

"Damn the tourney- we'll have it some other time," he replied gruffly, still miffed. Lyanna would make him promise, but it was not worth it. 

 

* * *

 

 

They arrived in Riverrun the day before the wedding. It had not been the happiest of reunions; Ned greeted them with half a smile and a weak embrace, and when Lyanna held his hand and asked if all is well, he mumbled something incoherent and nodded absentmindedly.

“He’s just nervous,” Robert would tell her later. “He’s never touched another woman in his life, you know. Likely doesn’t know what to expect.” Yet Lyanna sensed it was more than that.

She went to see Catelyn in the hours before the wedding. She was as beautiful as they all said: long, thick auburn hair, a bright complexion, and doe eyes as blue as winter roses. She was not yet in her wedding dress, but rather had handmaidens attending to her while she wore no more than a robe. When Lyanna entered her room, she dismissed the servants.

“Lady Lyanna,” Catelyn said breathlessly, jumping to her feet. She wrung her hands as she fixed Lyanna with wide eyes; the anxiety was plain to see on her charming face, and Lyanna suddenly became over whelmed with sympathy for the poor girl.

“My dear Catelyn, I fear I must insist you call me by name. We are to be sisters, you see,” Lyanna said to her with a smile meant to ease her fears. She reached out to hold her trembling hands as she kissed both her cheeks. It felt strange to speak to her so when she was in fact her elder; Lyanna was 16 where Catelyn was 19. Yet it was Lyanna who knew more of men and marriage, and thus she took it upon herself to aid her future goodsister in her time of need.

Lyanna led her to the window seat, where the two sat down. The river was right outside, separated only by some feet of land. It was a beautiful view, though it was less turbulent than Robert’s sea at Storm’s End.

“Do not fear my brother, Catelyn,” Lyanna said to her, still holding her hands.

“I do not fear him,” she responded with a sigh. “It is only that…” she trailed off, her eyes looking out to the river, and Lyanna knew that she was searching, hoping for a man who wouldn’t come.

“I must admit that you are very lucky,” Lyanna said with a slight smile. “Eddard is a good man. The best.” This prompted Catelyn to look to her with wide eyes. “He is kind and gentle and the greatest listener. I would always come to him with my worries and he was quick to ease them. He is so very patient, Ned is. He’d sit through all my tears and my longest stories without the slightest complaint.” Lyanna closed her hand over Catelyn’s, squeezing those pretty fingers. They were soft, unlike her own worn, calloused ones. She understood what Brandon meant when he called her ladylike. “I know he is not terribly handsome, dearest Catelyn, but he is very kind. Though Brandon is my brother too, I must admit that Ned would make a better companion than he. And I am not just saying that.” Lyanna smiled at her. “You are very lucky.”

Catelyn nodded at her, though she had yet to seem fully convinced. But when she raised her eyes back to Lyanna, she found a new softness in them, coupled with a warmth that implied that she would, at the very least, try.

It was the best either of them could do.

 

* * *

 

 

Robert’s hand did not leave her thigh since the start of the evening.

It was not that it bothered her. On the contrary, it was a nice feeling, that large warm hand on her leg. But as the wedding crowd bustled around them and lords and ladies greeted them, Robert's hand remained. What was more was that it seemed to be exploring more than was appropriate for the occasion. It would slip farther up her leg, moving to the inside of her thigh, and Lyanna would adjust in her seat to keep it from wandering any further.

Then halfway through the evening, Lyanna had nearly had enough. She put her arms around his elbow and dug her nails into his arms, smiling up at him as if nothing were wrong.

“Seven Hells,” Robert hissed, nearly choking on the wine he was pouring down his throat. “What is wrong with you, woman?” He looked at her as if he were an innocent being accused of some heinous crime.

“Your hands wander, dearest Robert,” she returned in a sickly sweet voice. “Can’t you wait for later tonight?” He glanced down to the hand at her thigh with a devilish smile.

“I saw some stables coming in here,” he said to her, seemingly off-topic. He leaned in further to her, his mouth inches from her own. “Perhaps we could go out and find them?”

She swatted at his arm, leaning off it to cross her arms over his chest. Her face burned feverishly as he laughed his raucous laugh and squeezed her leg. As she brooded, he leaned over and pecked her warm cheek, eliciting form her a low grumble.

Once she was placid again, her eyes went to Ned and Catelyn at their table. Ned seemed to be saying something to her, perhaps a meager attempt at conversation, and Catelyn nodded politely. Lyanna could not help but wonder if she had looked at Brandon like that, so coolly. She imagined not; girls tended to look at Brandon with excesses of warmth and affection, batting their eyes and giggling mindlessly. Catelyn was likely no different.

A serving girl made her away around to the table they were seated at. The woman caught Lyanna’s eye as quickly as she caught Robert’s. She was short and buxom, with a plentiful bosom and wide hips, but sported a plain face. In comparison to herself, the girl did not hold a candle to her; yet the jealousy was overwhelming as Lyanna watched as Robert examined her as she leaned over to pour their drinks, allowing him a generous peek down her blouse. She noticed the sly grin that graced his lips, and his eyes wander boldly from her breasts to her face.

Heat crawled up her neck and she found herself grinding her teeth, positively seething. In the midst of her building rage she heard an insufferable voice in her head whisper, _He is a man, and he is wont to look at other women._ She stifled that voice quickly.

 _He is my husband,_ she told herself instead. _He ought to behave with more tact._

But who was she to lecture about tact, when she herself had so little? Did she not lay with another man before Robert? A man who had no real right to her body?

 _But it was my choice,_ she justified. _For one night I had a choice._

As the serving girl walked off, Robert’s eyes followed her. All he had done was so blatant, so damned obvious, that it was almost as if he wanted to rile her up. And it succeeded.

“Enough,” she hissed, her neck feeling very warm.

“What?” Robert returned with confused eyes. His ignorance only served to feed her ire.

“Gods be good, can’t you behave? At least around me?”

“What in Seven Hells-“

“I’m your wife! Your eyes should look to no other woman but me!” She did not mean to cry out so, nor did she intend to let loose such a naïve statement. She had always known she wouldn’t be enough for him; even on their honeymoon, when he had no one else but her, she knew. What good was it to get angry over common knowledge?

“I don’t under-“

“Never mind,” she interrupted, turning away from her. She felt his bewildered eyes bore into her, but she paid them no mind. It meant nothing to her.

After she had cooled some, her eyes wandered back to Ned and Catelyn. Ned looked at his lap with much resignation as Catelyn’s soft eyes looked off somewhere to the side. There was a flash of fear in those lovely blue irises, and Lyanna’s heart hurt for her. _Poor girl_ , she thought again. _To marry someone she hardly knows._ At least Lyanna had the opportunity to spend time with Robert; a week at Winterfell when he asked for her hand and ten days at Harrenhal. Yet even without meeting him, she knew he had bastards from one end of the kingdom to the next, and an appetite for women and wine that could hardly be matched. His reputation said more than the man himself could. Catelyn did not have that privilege; each one of Ned’s character traits would be a surprise, and she would have to learn them.

Was that better?

“Robert,” she said softly, touching his arm. His eyes darted to her immediately, answering her call as a dog might. “Robert, promise me you won’t take part in the bedding.”

“You’re asking me to stay behind for my best mate’s bedding?” he asked of her, incredulous.

“You should have seen her this morning. She was so frightened,” she said with a frown. “The bedding is humiliating enough without you japing at her too.”

“Humiliating?” He let out a short laugh, amused. “The bedding is the greatest part of the wedding, Lyanna. You’ll not keep me from it.” Lyanna kept down a huff, choosing instead to be a more pliant wife. She put her hand over the one on her thigh and danced her fingers across his knuckles. His fingers moved, rubbing into her leg.

“You are a man. Of course it is great. I saw how many women jumped to help unclothe you for our bedding, Robert.” She raised her eyes innocently to his, biting her lip in a way that was meant to force down his guard. “It is not so enjoyable for a woman.”

Robert paused at this, assessing her words. Then he turned his face from her in a poor attempt to hide his mischievous smile.

“I make no promises, Lyanna,” he said. Her controlled behavior fell and she allowed her fury to take hold.

“If you take part in the bedding then I will refuse you when we come to bed tonight,” she threatened. She had thought it a very good threat indeed, but all it did was garner an attention-seeking laugh from Robert.

“A husband’s rights are not something that can be refused,” he said to her, infuriating her further.

“My body is not yours to use as you please,” she hissed at him, livid. “If I refuse you then you’ve no place to argue.”

“Is that right?” he asked her only to mock her. “I’d like to see you refuse me, Lyanna- just once.”

Before she could reply she was cut off by a growing chant within the hall. They all shouted for the same thing: _Bedding! Bedding! Bedding!_ Lyanna’s eyes darted to Robert, warning him, but he did not catch it. He was only grinning his maddening grin.

“Don’t you-“

“Sit down, men. There will be no bedding tonight,” Ned’s voice called out above the crowd’s. There was an initial hush before the rush of whispers, and Lyanna thought she might kiss her brother for being so gallant.

“Did you hear that, Robert?” she asked with a wolfish grin, looking to her slack-jawed husband. “No bedding tonight.”

* * *

 

When they retired to their chambers, Lyanna half expected Robert to do something mad. For ever since the dismissed bedding, he had been petulant, as miffed as a child who’s been refused his toys. All of the words she sent his ways were scorned with sniffs and grumbles, and all the times she tried to lighten his mood, the jut in his jaw became more. But alas, little could keep Robert from acting upon his desires. But when he tried to turn Lyanna onto her back, she pushed back with great force, shoving him off her. He looked bewildered to be rebuffed so suddenly, but did not make a second attempt at pinning her down.

“I must make something clear to you, Robert Baratheon,” she announced to him with a trembling lip. He did not say anymore, but backed slowly off her and sat upright, fixing her with tired eyes. “If you were hoping to find a pliant wife in me, then I fear you have turned to the wrong person. I am a jealous woman. And I will not bear your indiscretions quietly.” She leaned forward, getting on her hands and knees and crawling to Robert. Then she propped her hands on his thighs, and put her lips inches from his, close enough to smell the wine on his breath. “If it is affection you want then I will gladly give it to you. I do not intend to be the sort of wife to deny you what you believe to be your right. However…” She leaned forward, and Robert moved as if to kiss her lips, but she moved past him, putting her mouth to his ear. “If I ever hear that you have put your cock in another woman, I will find for myself one of the many strapping young men around the keep, and I will take him to bed. And I will come to our bed reeking of him so that you will know.”

His hands grasped her wrists and pushed her onto her back. She hit the pillows with a gasp as he pinned her wrists above her head. Robert settled between her legs and took to staring to her with fiery blue eyes.

“What of the Stark’s legendary honor?” he asked in a low growl. “Will you be so quick to throw that away?” Lyanna nearly laughed; if she had cared so much for her honor she would have refused Rhaegar’s advances before they ever culminated in his bedding her in the godswood. But she would not say that to Robert.

“You forget the Starks’ stronger trait,” she said to him with a smile. “Revenge.”

“The North remembers,” Robert said, recognizing the saying, undoubtedly through Ned. “Very well, then. I’ll keep to your bed if you keep to mine.” He said this with a grin Lyanna could hardly trust. “I do love you, Lyanna,” he added before pressing his lips to her neck.

 _Don’t say that,_ she wanted to urge him. _Not when I do not feel the same._

After they both have had their fill, Robert rolls over again to press a kiss to her lips, and one to the flat plain of her stomach.

“Good night,” he murmurs to her middle before laying his head on her breast.

"Good night," she whispers.


	4. iv - storm's end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna experiences life at Storm's End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the feedback thus far! i gotta say, this is a very easy fic to get through. you won't have to wait too long for updates :P

Lyanna found that there was little to do at Storm's End.

She had been slow to adjust to her role as Lady of the House; the matters of household politics, squabbling servants and fickle cooks had always been something kept hidden from her. She did not experience the same things most highborn girls did; her father had been lax on her, allowing her to ride and play with her brothers rather than learn to sew and study domestic terminology- And she had preferred it that way.

But when Robert told her she might bring a "feminine touch" to the home, she faltered. She had been used to a male-dominated home, one completely devoid of femininity or the softness it implied. If Brandon was home and she tripped and cut up her knees, she was told to stop crying and move on with it. And since most of her childhood had been with Brandon, she found that she had been raised to be more of man than a woman. It was only sweet Ned and little Benjen who treated her with the tenderness normally delivered to her sex. But by the time she had come to be with them often (that is, Ned was allowed more visits from the Eyrie and Benjen simply grew up), Brandon had already raised her to be proud of her scabs and pick at them too.

Thus, Lyanna had no clue what a "feminine touch" was. She could only do her very best. But when she first tried at making changes around the keep she had been met with fierce opposition. They were only little changes: a different shade of gold in the drapery, the hiring of more stable boys to work on the upkeep of the horses and the stables, but she was opposed nonetheless. It came mostly from the steward, Wallace, and her goodbrother Stannis.

While she quarreled with these two men in attempts to push her ideas, she found herself doing no better than hacking a sword at boulders. While she could easily drag Robert into the fray and have him shut them up and allow her to have her way, she found that this was a battle she wanted to fight alone.

She would start first with Stannis.

She found him in his solar, as he almost always was, poring over some dull tome or another. She noticed that he enjoyed books that detailed Westerosi history and economics, though by the grimace on his face and the way he’d grind his teeth, one would think he despised those books quite a bit.

“Dearest goodbrother,” Lyanna greets him in the doorway of his solar. His head snaps up, taking notice of her, but his scowl remains. “I thought I might ask your input on some matters.”

“Be quick about it. I’m busy,” he grumbles just loud enough for her to hear.

“Of course, my lord,” she says in her sweetest voice. “I had thought that we might need to rearrange some of the jobs the servants hold. Not all are happy in them, and I thought-“

“Their happiness is not of my concern. If they cannot perform their jobs, and they are invited to leave,” Stannis interrupts with a conclusive air, his eyes going back to his books. Lyanna would not be dismissed so easily, however.

“Happy servants make for a happy home,” Lyanna says, persistent.

“Do you believe this is an unhappy home?” he asks her.

“Not at all, my lord. But it could be happier.” She makes her way to his desk so that her shadow blocked his light. He scowls, miffed, and turns his eyes up to her. “I would very much like to raise my child the best I can. If the home it is in is not at its greatest, then I would have failed my child from birth, no?” Stannis does not reply to this. Lyanna continues. “Lord Wallace is being so difficult with me. He will not let me have my way. I swore I would handle the rearranging myself, but he continues to insist that it is unnecessary. I was hoping that perhaps you may convince him otherwise.”

“Why don’t you ask your husband?” Stannis shot back, evidently unwilling to take on what must have seemed an obtuse task.

“Robert does not understand the importance behind it. He does not care for these things-you surely know that, my lord. What is more…” she touches her fingers to his hand and casts her eyes downward most demurely. “I did not wish to displease you by going behind your back, my lord.”

When her eyes fluttered up to meet his, she found them staring back with just a hint of softness. He gives a nod and clears his throat before moving his hand from under hers to drum his fingers.

“Very well, then. I will speak with him,” he says another nod, averting his eyes from hers.

“Thank you, dearest Stannis.”

Men were easy creatures to sway.

 

* * *

 

“This way, Lya!”

Lyanna followed her little goodbrother through a bush, its leaves sticking to her as she emerged on the other side. She brushed them off and picked some out of her hair as she searched for the excitable toddler again.

Renly was only five years of age, and a terribly spoiled boy. He was not a horror by any means; he was sweet and gentle, similar to his brothers only in appearances. And out of all the three, it seemed as if she spent the most time with him. As Robert roamed the castle grounds training, riding, and hunting, Lyanna stayed back with Renly. It was not that she did not want to go; she wanted more than anything to accompany Robert on his excursions, but the maester had forbidden it, for the health of the babe. Thus, when she did go out with Robert, it was on walks and slows rides around Storm’s End. But it would not take long before he grew restless and passed her off to Renly.

She found him at the edge of a pond; it was more than a pond, but a reflection pool, one Robert had made to come along with the heart tree he had planted for her. Lyanna had not returned to the tree since her wedding, but found it was quite beautiful. The white of the weirwood was much brighter than the one in Winterfell, and its leaves more red, signs of that it was not nearly as aged.

“Why have you brought me here, little Renly?” Lyanna asks, kneeling down beside him. Her eyes meet his in the clear pool, and she sees him smile.

“It’s your tree,” he said to her. “And your pond.”

“Not mine. The gods’,” she clarified, running a hand through his fine straight hair.

“The Seven?”

“No, my love. The old gods.” A crimson leaf fell to the pond, rippling its waters. Lyanna was not a religious person by any means, but she had a great respect for the gods that nearly bordered on worship. There had always been a gammer in Winterfell, and Old Nan had often spoke of the children of the forest who carved the haunting faces into the weirwoods. It all seemed very mystical to her, and for a long while she did believe in the gods. But their severity was what deterred her from further worship; no worthy gods would rob her of a mother so early.

“What do you do with the pond? Do you swim?” Renly’s childish voice asks her, looking up to her with a wrinkled nose.

“You look into it,” she responded, looking to the pool again.

“This is boring,” he complained after only a few seconds. “Let’s go, Lya.” He scrambled to his feet and began to run off again. Lyanna could not help but smile at his childishness; she rose to her feet as well and followed, giving the heart tree a single backwards glance.

To her surprise, she shortly became out of breath; putting a hand over her belly, which at five moons had already formed a bump, Lyanna paused to breathe. In, out, in, out. The sun beat down on her as she mustered up her energy, but found she was feeling lightheaded too.

“Renly? Renly!” she called for the child, who emerged from a bush and ran to her. “Let’s sit down, shall we?” she asked, still huffing. Renly nodded, concern in his big blue eyes, and sat his rump on the floor, hands first. Lyanna did the same, trying to sit to the ground with as much grace as she could.

The sitting relieved her. Breaths entered her lungs more evenly as her eyes formed a clearer image of the gardens around her. _Gods be good,_ she mused. _Will I always be like this?_ Lyanna was an athletic sort of person, used to running around and putting pressures on her hard body. _Pregnancy has turned me into a meek little puppy._ That was not the whole truth, however. While pregnancy had done well to even her temper, it had also, at times, thrown it off-kilter. One moment she would be brushing her hair and the next she would be sobbing her eyes out. There had also been an incident that resulted in a weeping servant; Lyanna's anger had come up out of nowhere and the poor girl happened to be the first to botch a job. Lyanna made up for it later by slipping a few coins into her hand and begging her forgiveness, which had been accepted readily. But while passerbys had grown keen to her peaks and valleys, she hid them from Robert, not quite trusting his reaction.

As expected, Renly did not sit still for long. He was on his feet and walking around her, pushing his nose into the flowers that surrounded them. There were so many flowers and so many colors; Lyanna was not accustomed to such a spectrum. In the North there were little flowers hat could bear the harsh weather; not even green grass reared its head up North come late summer. There were just trees and her blue winter roses.

A bundle of yellow peonies were stuck in her face, delivered to her by Renly.

“Oh, Renly,” she said to him, taking them from his sticky hands. “You musn’t do that. They won’t grow back now.”

“They won’t?” he asked, his eyes widening. The blue orbs began to fill up with tears that threatened to spill; Lyanna was quick to still them.

“It is no matter. There are plenty more,” she said quickly, smiling at him. He sniffled briefly before setting down beside her and laying his head in her lap, wiping at his nose. They were lovely flowers, she realized, of the brightest gold and satiny petals. It seemed a waste to let them sit in a vase until they withered.

“Can you make me a crown, Lya?” he asked of her, looking up at her from her lap.

“A crown?” Lyanna examined the flowers; there was enough of the stems that she might make a little one. “That’s a lovely idea.” Thus, she began to weave the stems together, tying where she could, until a small crown was made. Her hands were sticky from the pap the stems secreted, but it was of no matter. She wiped her hands on her dress before setting the crown on Renly’s little head.

“I’m the Queen of Love and Beauty!” he cried out giddily, jumping to his feet. Lyanna began to laugh, but it caught in her throat. Her eyes drifted down to her grass stained dress as a memory of long fingers setting roses in her hair overtook her senses.

It had made no sense at the time. Why her? Why not his wife? What had she done to earn an honor that was not hers? She had seen him the day before and he congratulated her on besting three grown men in jousting, and that she deserved a laurel wreath for her victories. But that had been all. Though she certainly deserved some sort of honor, she did not expect a crown of flowers. It had been more of a curse than a congratulations in the end; Brandon shouted at her, accusing her of seducing the prince, insisting in hurtful words that she had been slatternly until Lyanna’s tears insisted that she had not. Robert shouted too, but not at her. It had been in her tent, but he cursed the prince and damned him for crowning what was not his to crown.

“You belong to me,” he had told her after his bellowing had been through.

“I belong to no one,” she said as he walked out her tent; he did not hear.

Lyanna had been four-and-ten.

“What are you doing with a crown on your head?” Robert’s voice called out in the gardens. Lyanna looked up, finding Renly to be holding his large finger and leading him to her.

“Lya made it for me.” Renly beamed at her proudly.

“He looks like a dandy in that crown,” Robert said to her with a frown. “You oughtn’t encourage him.” He loomed over her now, blocking the sun. He seemed even larger when she was so far below him. She must have remained silent for some time, as Robert’s brows furrowed with worry, and he shook Renly off his finger to hold out a hand for her. “Are you alright?” he asked, concerned.

“I’m fine,” Lyanna said with a tight smile, reaching out to accept his hand, clambering to her feet.

“He wears you out, doesn’t he?” he asked her, tilting his head towards Renly, she was sniffing at a pink rose. “You oughtn’t listen to him. He’s already spoiled rotten and you’re making it worse.”

“You speak as if you don’t spoil him yourself,” Lyanna returned. “With all the toys you’ve given him he’ll need a whole other room to put them in.”

“That’s a lie,” he said, no fire behind his words. Lyanna felt his hand feel at her back before slipping down and finding her hand. He twined her fingers with his own, dwarfing her hand in his palm. “Let’s go inside,” he said, looking out to the keep.

Renly followed, holding her skirts the whole way.

 

* * *

 

The den was the coziest room in the house, particularly at night. Moonlight would pour in through open windows that dragged in the scents and sounds of the sea. The large stuffed armchairs cradled her body when she pulled her legs up to set a book on her knees and read. A single candle was more than enough for this task; its light along with the moon’s allowed her for great reading, though they were hardly more than children’s books. They were volumes of songs and legends, fantastic stories of whirlwind romances, mythical creatures, and epic disasters. These book were not totally without their educational value however; some regaled her with tales of great battles and warrior queens from the Rhoynar forward.

In the past she did this alone. There would be no bodies but hers, no sounds but that of her breathing and of rolling waves, and no conversation but that which the books relayed to her. She read now of Queen Nymeria and her conquests- it was a personal favorite of hers. The Rhoyne queen struck her as incredibly valiant and exceptionally strong. She had even picked her own husband and ruled him too.

_Upon Nymeria’s crossing of the Narrow Sea,_ the book read. _She was met with-_

The door to the den creaked open, washing the room with dull yellow light. Lyanna looked up, taken aback by the intrusion, to find Robert’s massive form silhouetted in the doorway. Lyanna nearly sat up and lowered her legs, but decided against it when she saw that it was only him. Still, he had never come to see her here before. He was usually off doing something else by this time of night.

“There you are,” he said to her with a smile. “I’ve been searching for you.”

“Have you?” she asked, disinterested.

“Aye,” Robert replied. He looked around him, squinting, searching for something. “Gods be good, its dark. How can you see anything?”

“I can see,” Lyanna responded flatly. He closed the door behind him and walked to her side, taking the candle beside her. Lyanna nearly protested as her source of light was taken from her, but she saw he only used it to light the candle beside the armchair across from her before returning it to her side. He lowered himself into the chair with a satisfied groan, before pulling something from his side. In the soft light, Lyanna could see it was his war hammer, long and grand. From his pocket Lyanna saw him pull a piece of cloth, which he used to begin polishing his hammer.

Lyanna lowered her nose back to her book, content to see that he would not be disturbing her. The two performed their separate tasks in silence; Robert polished as Lyanna read. Two different people doing two different things. Lyanna preferred it that way: he did not get into her matters and she did not get into his. It came with repercussions, of course. Lyanna did not know what her husband did during the day and at night. She hadn’t a clue if he’d kept his promise that he’d keep to her bed, but in truth, she did not expect him to. The threats she fired off then regarding his infedility had been without candor. They were simply words, and words are wind.

“What are you reading?” he asks her after some time.

“The Tales of Queen Nymeria,” she responded without looking up. Robert makes a grunt of acknowledgement.

“Is it any good?” he asks.

“Yes.”

Minutes pass before he speaks again.

“Will you read it to me?”

Lyanna raises her eyes, intrigued. She saw that his war hammer was at his feet, shining brightly in the dark.

“I suppose I could,” she responds hesitantly. “Nymeria is met at Dorne with-“

“Wait,” Robert tells her. Lyanna looks to him, slightly irritated. “Come sit here.” He pats his leg, beckoning her with commanding eyes. Lyanna thought of refusing him purely out of spite, but decides against it; she did not want to argue.

Carefully, she pushes herself out of her chair and makes her way to Robert, who pulls her into his lap. His hands are quick to rest on her; one on her waist and another on the large swell of her belly. She was eight moons along now, and he had taken to cradling her belly as if it were a babe already. Lyanna sits up stiffly, takes a breath, and begins to read again.

“Nymeria is met at Dorne by Mors Martell, King of Dorne…” She reads for some time, the words rolling off her tongue and into the ocean air. As she speaks, she relaxes in his arms, resting her head on his shoulder and falling onto his chest. It was a comfortable seat, she supposed, though whether it was better than the armchair was debatable.

She has read through several pages when she realizes that Robert had been very silent. She tilts her head up to find his head tilted forward, eyes closed, and fast asleep. For reasons she couldn’t place, a heat crawls up her neck, the beginning of her fury.

“Robert!” she exclaims, starling him with a jolt.

“Wh-What? Why’d you stop reading?” he asks her in a groggy voice, frowning as he blinked his tired eyes.

“You fell asleep,” she said, frowning at him.

“Sorry. I can’t help it, y’know,” he says with a yawn, raising his arms above his head in a stretch. “Your voice is soothing.”

Lyanna does not respond; she lowers her head, uncaring. It was a compliment that meant nothing to her.

“I ought to say, I’m a little disappointed,” Robert says, folding his arms behind his head. “Ned’s been telling me for years that you are full of fire, yet we’ve yet to truly fight. I was hoping I’d anger you just now, and we’d go at it.”

Lyanna blinked at this curious confession. What reason did she have to fight with him? There was very little he could to do to her that would set her off, and those incidents would have to be heinous injustices indeed. In truth, Lyanna did not want to argue with him. She had been presented with many opportunities, but never took them. When Lyanna fought, it was out of love. She did not shout at Brandon because she truly hated him; nay, she loved him dearly, but because she loved him, she let him know her. And because he knew her, he would witness and receive the brunt of her wrath.

But it was more than that. She shouted to Ned, angry tears down her face more than she could count. She hissed at Benjen to hide his bruises so that their father would not know she’d been playing at swords. Her ire and her love were one and the same.

Lyanna did not love Robert; therefore, she would not waste her passion on him.

“That’s too bad,” he said with a shrug. “If that is-“

“Robert!” she exclaimed, dropping her book; the tome tumbled to the floor and her hands flew to her belly. “The babe is kicking; feel him!” Indeed, little feet hammered on her from the inside, demanding attention. Robert’s hands palmed her belly, searching for the point of impact, and Lyanna held one hand, guiding it.

“Oi, feel that!” he exclaimed with a wide grin. “He’s a strong one, this little bastard!”

The color drained from her face at the word.

“W-What do you mean?” she asks meekly, her breath caught in her throat.

“I mean he’s gonna be a rascal, this one. He’ll raise hell from one end of Westeros to the other!” He laughed his raucous laugh and pressed his fingertips into her belly, searching for another kick.

_He,_ she mused, wondering at the pronoun her husband had assigned to their unborn babe. _Robert thinks it a boy too._

“If he’s this strong now, he’ll be a right animal when he’s older. A true Baratheon,” Robert is still boasting, speculating, all while keeping a hand on the peak of her belly.

“You can tell all this from a few kicks?” she asks him, amused by him. Robert laughs at her little jape, then pulls her in to press a kiss to her forehead.

“I can hope, can’t I?” he asks, lowering his eyes so that they met hers. He looked at her with such amour it cause color to rise to her cheeks again, burning her up. “But I’ll take any sort of child you give me, wild or not.”

“He is born of a stag and a she-wolf,” she hears herself saying. “What chance does he have at an even temper?”

“You speak true, wife,” he responds with a grin. Suddenly, he rises to his feet, carrying her in his arms. On reflex, Lyanna holds onto his shirt. “Shall we go to bed?” he asks, still smiling his easy smile.

“If you’d like,” she responds.

As he carries her to their chambers, Lyanna wonders if they are both wrong. The babe could very well be docile and gentle, calmer than the sea before a storm.

_A little Ned,_ Lyanna tells herself, unwilling to say the other name, the Valyrian name.


	5. v - children and swords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna meets her son & fights with Robert in two different ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas all!

The last thing Lyanna remembered was Robert’s muffled shouts.

It had been after hours and hours of sweating and shouting, of crushing Robert’s fingers in her hand. He would leave every once in a while, clearly overwhelmed, but returned shortly thereafter with his face more haggard than before. She did not know how much time had passed until she heard a babe’s cries, louder than her own, and the sudden wave of bliss that washed over her. She had felt cold, colder than she had ever felt, but there was pain between her legs that wouldn’t cease. Then came Robert’s shouting, heard as if her head were underwater, reaching her ears as stifled and indiscernible.

Then, darkness.

She plunged into a dreamless sleep, one filled with voices instead of images. There were many she could not place, and many that she could: Old Nan telling her a moral story, her father scolding her for playing with sticks, Benjen whispering that he was scared, Ned insisting that Robert’s “a good man, truly a good man”, and Brandon’s boisterous laugh- all this she heard in clarity.

But then another voice called out to her, one she had not heard in years.  
“Lyanna, darling,” it said to her in a whisper that echoed in her ears. “It’s not your time. Go back- he needs you.”

It was her mother's voice.

In the darkness of her mind she tried to follow the voice but it urged her to turn back, turn back, but as she seemed to near it she grew so very warm, and it was the kindest warmth she’d ever felt.

The voice faded and another replaced it: “I love you, Lyanna Stark. Come away with me. I need you.”

A pale hand emerged from the shadows. Lyanna reached to take it, but it could not be touched.

She woke with a start, sitting up in bed and panting, feeling utterly winded. For minutes she did nothing, only trying to gather her wits and retrieve her muddled senses. Then it all returned at once. She first realized that this was not her birthing chambers, but a different chamber entirely. Her dress had been changed as well, into a green silk nightgown that felt soft against her tired skin.

A noise to her right caused her to turn her head in that direction; in the chair beside the bed sat Robert, his head tilted back as he slept and snored. But it was not his presence that startled her, but what he carried. For cradled in his arms was a babe swaddled in a white blanket with its face turned away from her.

Lyanna's heart nearly stopped at the sight. With trembling hands she reached for the child, yearning with all her heart to draw it to her breast. But as soon as she started to pull the babe from Robert, he drew away sharply, keeping it out of arm's reach. He woke with a start, blinking his red eyes until they focused. When they settled on her, his jaw dropped.

"Thank the gods," he whispered, dragging a hand down his face. "You had me-"

"Give him to me!" Lyanna demanded with sudden ferocity. She couldn't stand it, for her child to be so close but out of her reach. She had waited long enough.

Robert gave a dumb nod before carefully shifting the bundle into her arms. Lyanna drew the babe to her chest and pushed aside the blanket that hid part of his face.

Lyanna began to cry.

He was beautiful, with a head of hair as dark as her own and skin as light as hers. Though his face was round and chubby now, there were hints in the shape of his chin that seemed to ensure that he would have a long face, a Stark face. Though he slept soundly now Lyanna had a feeling that his eyes were as grey as a stormy sky.

He looked nothing like a dragon prince, and her tears were ones of relief mingled with joy.

Robert's rough hand wiped at her wet cheek before moving up to push the hair out of her face. She turned her bleary eyes to him and found that she felt a sudden lightness in his chest when he looked upon his face. He looked tired with a dull glimmer of- of what? It was tenderness but it was concern too, delight and temperance.

"You scared me half to death," he told her, keeping his hand on her cheek. His voice is thick, she realizes, and he spoke with a heavy tongue. "After you had him you started to bleed- gods, there was blood everywhere, and I kept shouting, asking what was wrong, and all they said was to get out." So that was the shouting she remembered last. A hint of a smile danced on her lips. "They sent some of my men to pull me out and I broke one of their noses for it." There was a sudden sorrow filling his eyes. "I thought I lost you."

Lyanna found she could not meet his gaze; she lowered her eyes to the babe at her breast. "Have you named him yet?" she mumbled, unable to respond to his honest confession.

Robert nodded and pulled away his hand. "Jon. After Jon Arryn," he said. "Does it please you?"

Lyanna nodded. "It is a good name."

A silence passed between them for a short while, both unable to speak. Her shoulders seemed to shrug off a burden as she looked at the child in her arms; the weeks leading up to her due date had been ones wrought with worry, worry that he would emerge looking like the man she laid with before her wedding. There were no excuses to offer for silver hair and purple eyes, and though this child did not bear likeness to Robert either, it was easier to explain. Lyanna silently thanked her gods for it.

"He looks like you," Robert said, as if reading her mind.

"He looks like Ned," Lyanna contested, smiling down at the sleeping babe.

"You Starks all look the same," Robert said off-handedly, leaning back in his seat. Lyanna arched a brow.

"Oh, really?" she asked with the slightest smile.

"Aye, you do. When you glare at me I can see Ned and Brandon glaring too." He mimed a sloppy circle in front of his face. "'Tis in the eyes."

Lyanna looked over at him and realized his finger lingered in front of his face for sometime before it dropped to his leg. He rolled his head to the side to look at a spot on the wall with glassy eyes.

"Are you drunk?" Lyanna asked him, realizing just now that his slurring had not been from exhaustion but from inebriation.

"Hm?" he asked her, shifting his gaze to her with some effort. "I'm not _drunk_ \- I had a few mugs after they said you'd pull through... and a few whenever I left the room to get some air-"

"I cannot believe you!" she reprimanded him with a fire that had not kindled in her for some time. "Damn those nurses for letting you hold him as you passed out drunk in my room!"

"I'm not drunk," he insisted again. "Even if I was, I wouldn't hurt him-"

"Robert!"

"Don't get angry at me! 'Tis your fault for scarin' me like that. I had to drink somethin'. 'Sides, I wanted to give him to you when you first woke up."

"Unbelievable," she reprimanded sharply. Lyanna shook her head but found herself smiling. Her temper had already retreated, as quick and sporadic as it always had been. It was the wolf-blood in her, as her father would always say. Lyanna brushed a finger against Jon's pink cheek and wondered if he would be the same.

She unwrapped some of the swaddling so that babe's arms were free. The jostling seemed to wake him, as he opened his eyes to reveal to her pale grey orbs. Lyanna could not help but gasp and bite back the second wave of tears that threatened to spill. He looked around with much blinking, trying to focus, before looking to her with a wondrous curiosity.

"Hello, Jon," she whispered to him, cupping his face with her hand. "I'm your mama."

He blinked at her, as if understanding.

Robert stood up then to lean over her and look at the babe too; his head was right by her own, close enough to feel the scratch of his beard. He reached out to touch his hand; Lyanna watched as tiny fingers wrapped around his single large one.

"Ha!" Robert exclaimed, and Lyanna could hear the goofy grin in his voice. "The boy's got a grip on him. If he can hold a sword with half that much strength, he'll be alright."

The babe, as if hearing his words, drew Robert's finger into his mouth and began to suck.

"What is he doing?" Robert asked with such shock that Lyanna could not help but laugh.

"He's suckling, Robert," she informed him.

"Why?"

"He wants milk."

"He thinks my finger is a teat?"

Lyanna laughed again but was cut short when Jon began to fuss and whimper. Robert pulled his finger from his mouth, unsure of what to do.

Lyanna knew. She opened the front of her blouse and bared a breast before putting Jon's mouth to it. He hushed immediately and began to suckle quietly. He looked so sweet then, turned to her with tiny fingers brushing her skin. It didn't matter who his father was as one thing was sure: he was hers.

"I'm jealous," Robert says flatly, sending a blush to Lyanna's cheeks.

"Robert!" she scolded, turning her warm face away from him. But then Robert reached out to turn her back. He leans into her, bumping noses.

"The gods are good," he murmurs before capturing her lips with his own. He tasted of beer, bitter to her tongue, but it did not repulse her. "Thank you," he says to her once he pulls away, locking eyes with her and making her wish they could be like this, always.

 

* * *

 

Lyanna opted to raise her child the Northern way; she made no use of a wet nurse, choosing instead to nurse him herself, even in the middle of the night. His nursery was kept next door to her chambers, and his cries could be heard; if not, a nurse would come into their chambers and deliver the child into her arms.

Robert would wake disgruntled at Jon's cries, however soft they were, offering little beyond a few grunts before falling back asleep. Lyanna did not mind. It was those moments with Jon that she cherished the most; those quiet, hushed nights where the only sounds were that of her own breathing and Jon's soft suckling. Then when he fell asleep, Lyanna would lay down beside him and listen to him breathe those sated, sweet breaths and there was an immeasurable joy in that.

Lyanna did not spend all her time with her son, however. After she had recovered from the aftermath of childbirth, she would leave Jon asleep under a nurse's care and go out. It was often with Renly, who believed she no longer loved him because there was another child, and stole her attentions whenever possible. But whenever she traveled the gardens with Renly, she found she was looking for someone else. At first, she thought it would be Jon, that she yearned to return to him. But even when she would return indoors to watch her son, she found that that was not the case.

It was one day, when Renly and her were exploring the grounds, did she find Robert with a group of men, training with his enormous war hammer. He sweated under the sun and his muscles rippled with each fierce movement; Lyanna could not turn away. She had an unbidden urge to run to him, to have him smile at her and give his attentions to her in front of his mates. But Lyanna found she was not satisfied just in watching him. Old memories of watching her brothers receive much coveted training in Winterfell bubble up, along with the old jealousies.

It was little more than three moons after Jon’s birth, that Lyanna asked if she might join him in his training. He had protested at first, insisting it was unladylike and unseemly, but Robert was quickly persuaded otherwise when she let her mouth do the coaxing. She had made him promise, as she always did when she wanted something.

Thus, one morning, after Lyanna had put Jon to sleep and shooed Renly away, she ran off to the training yard for her first day of lessons.

It was empty, save for Robert and the master-at-arms. She crosses over to the weapon rack to pick out a sword. She finds a simple blade with no discerning features, but it was a real blade that held an edge. She had never handled a true blade except for the once or twice that Brandon took pity on her. The weight of it surprised her.

She is relieved of it when Robert comes up from behind her to pluck the sword from her hand with infuriating ease before setting it back on the rack. “We’re starting with wooden swords.”

Lyanna is not happy with this. “Wooden? I’m not a child,” she insists with a frown.

“You’ve no more experience than a child’s,” Robert returns as he waves over the master-at-arms.

“I’ll have you know that I once scattered a group of men with a tourney sword,” Lyanna says, recalling the memory at Harrenhal that led to a friend.

“You could scatter men with a look, much less a sword,” Robert tells her with a laugh. Lyanna remains frowning. “Fine, fine, if it please you, we’ll use tourney swords.” He relays the message to the master-at-arms, who returns with two tourney swords. Robert hands one to Lyanna and she takes it, gripping it as she did her sticks. It too was heavier.

The two walk out to the center of the yard, where Robert issues his first command. “Come swing at me,” he calls out from his side, entering a battle stance. “Let’s see what your brothers have taught you.”

Lyanna obeys. She rushes at him, swinging the sword down his center with all her might. He turns, dodging the strike. Lyanna moves to swing again, but she is too slow. Robert pulls her body to his, a position more intimate than threatening, before putting the cold steel to her throat.

“I’m disappointed,” he croons in her ear. “I expected a real fight there.”

Her face burning with frustration, Lyanna digs her elbow into his ribs, pushing him away from her. He laughs, and her blush quickly turns into one of embarrassment. _I can handle this,_ she tells herself. She runs at Robert again, swinging her sword at him; he parries it, and the two clash swords for a short time, the sound of ringing steel filling the yard. But Robert is stronger; with a single push, she lands rump-first in the dirt. There are more laughs from Robert, though he extends a hand that Lyanna pushes away with her sword. She jumps to her feet, her ears burning with the fire of her fury, and begins to swing blindly, hoping to strike something. But that proves to be her folly as Robert quickly disarms her with a well-placed strike that sends her sword flying out of her hand. Robert grins down at her, with a twinge of mockery. Her fury at a peak, she turns her face away, mumbling, “I’m better with lances anyway,” before turning on her heel to leave.

Robert grabs her elbow, pulling her so that her back was pressed against his chest; though she tries to trash against him, but he is stronger. Even this makes her ears burn hotter. “Aren’t we lively?” he says to her, smiling in her hair. “I thought you wanted to learn.”

“I do want to learn,” Lyanna says in a snarl. “But you’re laughing at me.” She nearly bit her tongue for saying something so stupid. Laughs? Those were nothing. She’d been mocked in her own home plenty of times. But that was with Brandon, and the promise that he’d gut anyone who took it too far.

“You’ve a problem with that?” he asks.

“You’re mocking me,” she snivels. “I ought to have your head for it.” Her words come out childish, but she doesn’t care.

“Instead of having my head, you can put it where you like on that sweet body of yours,” he murmurs to her, turning her blush into a more carnal one. “Now quit your arguing and pay attention. I’ll teach you a proper stance first.” He remains at her back, now placing a hand on her middle. "Keep a straight back at all times." His hands move down to her hips. "Legs apart with your knees bent, so you can move quicker.” She obeys, and then awaits his next order, but he is silent. She turns her head to look at him, urging him to continue. “It’s strange,” he mumbles. “I’d always imagined that a son of mine would be the first I’d teach to swing a sword.”

“Consider me practice, then, for your son,” Lyanna says with a soft smile.

“You ought to be tending to that son, not flirting with me,” Robert returns.

“Flirting? Who says I am flirting?” Lyanna asks haughtily. “And I have tended to him. Now you tend to me.”

“What reward do I receive in this?” he asks, nearing his face to hers. “I doubt you’ll honor me in a melee any time in the future.”

“You receive everything you see before you,” she replies, kissing the corner of his mouth knowing he would want more. “But you must please me before I please you.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he says after clearing his throat. He pats her rump, causing Lyanna to stiffen. “That’s right, keep a straight back. Have you forgotten your first lesson already?”

Her husband was unlike what she had wanted, but he pleased her all the same.

 

* * *

 

Robert seemed to have woken up that morning with more passion than he knew what to do with.

He had been on top of her, kissing her, for some time now. No good mornings or formalities; he found her awake and began to kiss her. His mouth was doing its own exploring, discovering her cheeks, her neck, her collar, her breasts. It was a mouth Lyanna would welcome eagerly with her own, though he seemed to have deliberately avoided it thus far, leaving her to gasp and groan unhindered. The noises she made were exacerbated by his hands, large rough fingers traveling down her spine, digging into her hips, gripping her thighs. They would ghost between her legs long enough to extract a desperate whimper before moving onto less sensitive territory.

She couldn’t understand the sudden passion at first; such attentions would quickly lead to a fuck but it did not seem as if this were the same; he was only touching her and kissing her as if that was all he meant to do. But surely, it could not be so chaste with Robert.

His fingers find a sore bruise on her hip, pressing into it hard enough to have her yelp. He pauses his affections then, perhaps sensing that it was not a cry of pleasure. She feels his eyes travel down to where he prodded, and his jaw goes slack.

“Did I do that?” he asks dumbly, staring down at it.

“With your sword, I imagine,” she informs him. They had continued their training as had been promised, but swordplay proved to be a painful lesson. Though he tried to avoid it, the flat of his blunted sword had whapped her more than once. Such treatment more often than not led to a sore body, but she had come away with bruises and welts once or twice.

“Gods,” he mumbled, discontent. “It looks horrible.” Lyanna does not need to peer down to confirm; she had seen it the night before when it was an array of greens and blues and yellows. It did look quite terrible.

“It is fine,” she insists. Then an idea pops into her head, and she smiles at it. “Perhaps you could make it better.”

“What can I do?” he asks her, eyes still on the bruise. Lyanna grabs a fistful of his hair to pull his eyes to hers. “Oh,” he says, breaking out into a smile. He moves down her body to press his lips to the colorful contusion, darting out his tongue on her skin. Lyanna shudders, curling her toes in pleasure. “Eager,” he murmurs breathily, pressing a full kiss to her hip.

“Kiss me,” she suddenly hears herself say. Her lips grew envious, it seemed, and ravenous too.

Robert does not need any further encouragement. His mouth meets hers in an impassioned lip-lock, the two searching for some affection. Lyanna only knows the joy his weight imposes on her, and his hungry mouth. Her fingers dig into his cheek, the short hairs of his beard shoved under her fingernails.

Robert turns her over so that she is astride his waist, but their lips do not leave each other. She feels his hands travel up her thighs, her sides, to her back, where they pressed until any gap between them was closed. But then their lips pull apart as each took generous gulps of air, grey eyes meeting blue ones. He was so close, she realized. Their noses touched and each breath was shared.

“This entire time I was hoping you’d beg,” Robert confesses suddenly giving her a smile. “I wasn’t aware you liked to be kissed so much.”

“Beg you to take me?” Lyanna asks with a chuckle. She raises her body so that she sits astride him, her hands flat against his chest. “I’m your wife, not a whore.”

“Some might say they’re one and the same,” Robert japes, catching the hand she meant to send down to chastise him. He pulls her fingers apart to press a kiss to her open palm. Lyanna feels the scratch of his beard against it, tickling her. “I don’t mean that, of course. You’re better than any whore I’ve ever had.”

“You honor me,” Lyanna says sarcastically, pulling her hand away from his grasp. He folds his arms behind his head, the very image of confidence, then looks to her expectantly. Lyanna’s fingers walk down his collarbone. “Let’s go riding today,” she says without inquiry.

“What are you waiting for then? You’re already saddled up,” he says huskily, shifting his hips beneath her.

“No, really. On horses.”

“Get up, then. We’ll go now,” he urges her, and she does so.

They dress in silence, Lyanna opting for her preferred shirt and trousers with high riding boots.

“I’m going to see Jon first,” she tells Robert, who is trailing after her. He nods and parts ways with her. Lyanna enters the nursery next door, finding a septa sitting by the crib with a book between her hands. She curtseys for her before sitting back down. Lyanna goes straight to the crib to find little Jon awake, but silent. He wriggles his fingers and toes upon seeing her, raising his wide grey eyes to her, urging her to hold him. She picks him up in all carefulness, smiling down at him. He was her little babe, truly, with that dark hair and his heart full of love for his mother. Lyanna nurses him in a rocking chair by the crib until he falls asleep, mouth still attached to her breast. She carefully removes him, then lowers him into his crib again, but not before pressing a kiss to his smooth forehead.

She quickly makes her way to the main hall, where she thought she might find Robert, finding herself filled with excitement. She looks around, but he is not there; instead is Wallace, the steward, standing by the dining table with another man. Lyanna walks to him, her chin reflexively raised. “Lord Wallace, where is Robert?”

Wallace pauses his conversation, clearly miffed. “He is in his solar, my lady. However, I do not think you should-“

“Thank you, my lord,” she says curtly before finding her way to the solar. The door is open, she realizes, and from inside she hears voices. Lyanna is on alert; on tip-toe she creeps to the door, hoping to catch the conversation.

Lyanna hears a woman’s voice. “She does well, my lord. But I need a little more.” It is a young voice, a sweet voice. Lyanna furrows her brows at it.

“I can’t keep doing this forever you know,” Robert says, disgruntled. “I’ve my own family to look after.”

“She is your seed, is she not? I ask only for a little bit. Just enough to get by until I can find better work.”

“Fine. Gods be good, those eyes of yours still hold some power over me. Go speak to my steward and leave before someone sees you.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Lyanna backs away as a young woman, only a little older than herself, walks out with a little girl holding her hand and walking beside her. The woman is dressed in a thin dress with openings at the legs and back- the garb Lyanna knew to be that of a whore’s. The child beside her has black hair, a strong chin, and eyes that were a most familiar shade of blue. Lyanna’s chest tightens at the sight. The woman gives her a short nod, perhaps mistaking her for a servant, before moving past her.

It’s one of his bastards, Lyanna realizes, a wave of anger washing over her. She storms inside the solar to find Robert at his desk, eyes widening in surprise.

“You’re here,” he says dumbly.

“You seem surprised,” Lyanna says dryly. “I see you’ve been very busy since you left me, what with the mother of your bastard begging you for money.” Robert does not reply. His mouth forms as tight line, his eyes daring her to speak. “You don’t deny it? You let your bastard and her whore mother into our home?”

Robert is suddenly reactionary, his lips curling into a menacing sneer. “Who I let in or out of _my_ home is none of your concern.”

“Your home? I see. So I own nothing and have no say. I don’t recall that being a stipulation when we had wed.” Lyanna is furious beyond redemption, slighted in a way she knew she would one day be slighted. Yet her foresight does not lessen the hurt.

“Put your teeth away, woman, I didn’t mean that. I’m not going to just let her starve.”

“How noble of you,” she snarls, her hands curling into fists.

“Don’t get cross with me. I haven’t gone to see her since we were wed; this is the first she’s asked for anything since.”

“You’re right. I ought to be happy I was blessed with such a thoughtful husband. I should learn to be thankful that you put bastards in other women, for it gives you a chance to prove just how generous you are.” Her tone does not amuse him. He pins her with cold eyes.

“You should be thankful that I haven’t stilled that tongue of yours yet,” he threatens none too kindly.

“You ought to be the one to hold his tongue!” she exclaims, setting her jaw. “You stand before me with no apologies for what you’ve done. It’s shameless, allowing a whore with her bastard daughter under your roof, the roof you share with your wife and son!”

“I’m not going to apologize for who I let into my home and what I give to those who enter it!” he shouts back, slamming his hands down on his desk.

“So they’re free to come and go as they please, then? You say you got the bastard on her before we were wed; how much longer must I wait until I find another whore with a babe suckling at her breast? Are you asking me to stay silent at such a slight?”

“You will stay silent if you know what’s best for you, woman.”

“I will not!” she cries out, hysterical. “You may go and fuck as many women as you desire, but bring a bastard or its mother into this home and you’ll feel my wrath.”

“I’m shaking in my boots,” Robert says sarcastically, cruelly. “If your wrath is anything like it is now, I imagine it can be easily silenced with a proper strike.”

“Lay a hand on me and I’ll tell Brandon,” she says on reflex. She regrets it as soon as she says it; he laughs, throwing his head back in amusement.

“Go ahead and write to him, wife," he japes cruelly. "Do you think he’s in Pentos by now? Maybe Volantis? Bravoos? I say you send as many as you like until he comes to your rescue.”

“You’re a rotten man,” Lyanna snarls now, frustrated at the tears that had sprung into her eyes. “I’ll not let my children see you shame me so. I’d rather the babe in my belly die now than have him see such a thing.” Lyanna gasps at her words, clapping a hand over her mouth. She did not mean to tell him, not yet, not like this…

Robert blinks, the mask of anger slipping from his face. “The babe…?”

Lyanna turns on her heel and runs, fearing what she may do or say next.


	6. vi - it goes on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna learns of the nature of her and Robert's relationship. After four years of marriage and (mostly) bliss, old affairs threaten to rile up old feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a quick update- enjoy the conflict!

Lyanna had avoided Robert for the past few days, and he seemed to be doing the same.

She would catch glimpses of him around the castle, but whenever the two made eye contact Lyanna was quick to turn away. Perhaps he had wished to apologize, and perhaps she did too, she couldn't bring herself to come to him. Once her anger had come and passed, she had regretted most of what had been said, and found a queer irony in it. She spoke of bastards in homes when she herself might be harboring one. For in truth, whenever Jon would gaze up at her, she found find a glint of intelligence that was foreign to her family and her husband. It was a glint she had once been enamored with when she first saw it reflected in violet eyes.

She brought Jon into her empty bed, as it seemed that Robert would not come to it. He slept soundly beside her though Lyanna could not; she would stay up for hours to listen to his soft breaths and the crashing of waves against the rocks. When he would wake, it was with the slightest cries, which would be shushed as soon as he cradled him in her arms. Jon made those nights less lonely, but it was empty all the same.

Within this period of solitude and ill will, she thought back to Rhaegar more than was appropriate. _Rhaegar wouldn't shame me like so,_ she would tell herself in the dark. _Rhaegar would apologize, even if it was I who was wrong._ Then she'd recall his long fingers tracing her skin, and will those pleasant images away with a red face.

One morning, Renly had slipped into her room to wake her by jumping on the bed and calling her name. "Lya! Lya!" he called out. Jon woke in the process with a fright, as he began to cry loudly.

"Renly, no," Lyanna mumbled, sitting up in bed. She pulls Jon into her arms, rubbing his back and softly shushing him.

"You have a present," Renly whispered, conscious of his volume. "Come see your present."

"A present? From who?" Lyanna asked as she bared her breast for Jon to suckle. He did, latching on quickly, and ceasing his cries.

"Robert, silly," Renly replied with an impatient huff. "Come and see!"

Lyanna arched a brow, but would not move. "You must wait. I need to feed Jon and change," she tells him softly. Renly frowns, but does not leave; he huffs again, then plops down across from her, crossing his arms and legs.

After all had been done, Lyanna follows Renly, who leads her by her hand. He takes her to the main hall; Lyanna begins to search for Robert despite herself, but only finds Stannis and a box on the floor. Renly leads her to Stannis, who looks at her impatiently, as if he had been waiting for quite some time.

"Robert has asked me to present this to you," he grumbles, nudging the closed box.

"Robert could not be bothered to give it to me himself?" Lyanna asks with a scowl.

"He's... busy," Stannis returns.

"Very well, then," Lyanna says. For a moment she thinks of refusing the gift, but she is not so hateful. She kneels down and lifts the lid of the box, and Renly squeals at the sight.

"Puppies!" he cries out, picking one up. They were puppies, four of them; they all have floppy ears, long noses, and pale blue eyes; three have grey fur with white spots and one is entirely black, but all four have red ribbons about their necks. Lyanna could not help but gasp at the sight. She picks one up, the black one, who begins to pant excitedly, wagging its short tail.

"They're darling," Lyanna confesses, as she pulls out a third with her other hand. Renly is giggling excitedly as one mercilessly licks his face.

"Robert is a fool," Stannis mumbles, grinding his teeth. Lyanna furrows her brows up at him. "If you were mine-" he stops himself, then looks down to her with an intensity Lyanna had seen many a time in Robert's eyes. He turns away, shamefaced, and begins to walk off.

"I know," Lyanna says below her breath. A good man would have delivered an apology in person, not a box full of puppies.

"This one is Flopsy!" Renly calls out besides her, still holding the grey puppy. "This one is Mopsy and this is Topsy,” he points to the second grey one and then to the one still in the box. "And this one is Lopsy.” He motions to the black one in her lap.

"Aren't they boys, Renly?" Lyanna asks, noting that they were indeed all boys.

"It doesn't matter," Renly insists, kissing Flopsy.

"I suppose it doesn't," she agrees. They were only dogs, after all, and Renly a child. Such things didn't matter.

* * *

 

Lyanna returns Jon to his nursery for the night with the feeling that Robert would be coming back to her bed. She stayed up in eager anticipation, waiting to see how grand of an apology he might dole out to her; though he was stubborn, she thought he might be the one to relent and murmur the words she wants to hear. She knew very well that she would not be the one to say it first.

She was dressed in a small, simple nightgown; one that was easy to pull off, as she knew it would be discarded. Why wouldn't it? Surely he hungered for her as she hungered for him.

Hours pass, and he does not come. Lyanna sits in silence, trying to block out the lapping of waves so that she may hear footsteps instead. There are none, except for those of servants who pass her chambers. Disheartened, Lyanna climbs out of bed, wrapping a robe around her before she slips out of their bedchambers. On instinct, she heads next door to Jon's nursery, hoping perhaps to bring him with her into her bed for another night. Upon entering, a sliver of light shines through the door and she sees a large figure looming over the crib. Her heart skips a beat at first, fearing it was a stranger, until the shadow turned to look at her with blue eyes.

"Robert," Lyanna breathed, relieved. "I've been waiting for you." It was words she didn't want to say, but they could not be stifled.

"Sorry," he returns, though Lyanna felt it was an apology for a different matter. "I was coming to the bedroom... but I wanted to see him first."

As she nears she sees that Jon lay sleeping in his arms, pouty lips parted as if awaiting milk. Lyanna clings to the back of Robert's blouse, peering around his arm to look upon her son at a closer proximity.

"Gods be good, he's beautiful," Robert muses, large hands raising Jon closer to his face. "I want another, Lyanna."

Unbidden tears spring into her eyes; she chuckles softly through them. "It won't be long now. But you must be patient."

"I've always liked children, you know," he says off-handedly. Lyanna wanted to say yes, I know. I haven’t forgotten that bastard. "I've always wanted to fill the halls with 'em, have 'em run around like little devils and knock things over, if only to drive Stannis out."

"Robert, be kind," Lyanna chastises, though she laughs despite herself. "I do not know if I can give you halls of children. I can give you a handful."

"Fine," he grumbles. Lyanna watches as he presses a kiss to Jon's smooth forehead before he lowered him back into the crib in all carefulness. Then he turned around and looks at her; she grows warm under his gaze, but cannot meet his eyes. "Did you like the puppies?" he asks innocently.

"I hope you did not think that my favor could be so easily bought," Lyanna snaps harshly. "Dogs make for a poor apology."

"You didn't like them, then?" he asks, disgruntled that she would rebuff his gesture.

"I loved them, Robert. But we did not argue over puppies." She sighs, then raises her head to look at him. He is docile, she realizes, prepared to talk. "I know very well that I cannot make you do anything. You don't wish to compromise. I know I cannot make you love me."

"Lyanna, no-" he tries to interrupt, but Lyanna continues.

"I am not angry at you for that. We did not marry each other for love. We are highborn, a lord and lady, and your guardian and my father have arranged it so that our houses are forever bound. I do not ask for love. That it an impossible request. But I require respect." She reaches out to the front of his blouse, clinging to it, while her eyes found his in the dark. "I am a Stark. A slight to my honor is a slight that cannot be forgiven. You may have your whores and your bastards, but you cannot bring them into this house. I’m to have your children who will one day grow up; if they ask me who these strange women and children are, I don’t think I could stand it. Do not shame me so. I have a father and brothers who care very much for me; slight me in this matter or lay a hand on me and I cannot stay silent. Be discreet, so I may pretend. This is all I ask of you.”

He opens his mouth as if to reply, but catches her off-guard when he presses a full kiss to her lips. He pulls her into his arms, pressing her cheek into his chest and burying his chin in her hair. Tears fall from Lyanna’s eyes, wetting the blouse she clung to so desperately now.

“I had always thought I’d be able to smell them or taste them on you,” she sniffles, burying her chest in his chest. “The other women, that is. Why do you go to them?” She knows she is contradicting her words from before, her permissiveness in exchange for subtleness. But she felt like speaking true, and this was the truth.

“I don’t know,” Robert tells her, running a hand through her hair as he kissed the top of her head over and over.

“It drives me mad to think that you’re with another woman,” she confesses, furrowing her brows. “I want you all to myself. I want to be the only one you desire. The only one who carries your children.”

“You’ll not see any more of my bastards here, I promise you.” He lifts her up by her waist so that she is above him, propping her up against him with only one arm. A hand goes to her face, brushing away stray tears.

“Then why can’t you show it?” she asks him, frustrated. “Why can’t you keep to my bed? Why must you threaten me? Why would you send me puppies when all I wanted was an apology from your lips?”

“I’m no good with words,” Robert returns. “I’d muddle it for sure.”

“Then tell me you’ll try, at least. I’m begging you to try to behave, to try to stay to my bed.”

“I will. I’ll try,” he says, though she knows he promises nothing. “I love you, Lyanna, truly I do.”

“You needn’t pretend-“

“I’m not pretending.” Their lips meet again, pushing against the other in all passion. Her hands were entangled in his hair, unwilling to let him go, wanting him closer, closer. Robert carries her out the door and into their chambers next door, easing her onto the bed as he continued to kiss her, undress her. His lips leave hers to travel down to her jaw, leaving a scorching trail of kisses down her neck, to between her breasts. His lips pause at her middle, and he tilts his head up to look at her.

“When did you find out about this one?” he asks her, no doubt referring to the babe.

“About a week ago,” she confesses. Her moon’s blood had been late, but then it didn’t come at all. Lyanna had known then, had planned for it to be a surprise. Her own stupidity prevented it from that.

“I can’t wait,” Robert mumbles, moving down her body. His kisses continue down the inside of her thigh until she gasps his name, urging him to stop teasing her. Then he grabs the sheets on either side of her and pulls them, bringing her hips to his. Everything is feverish and urgent after that; Robert’s blouse is discarded of, and she tugs at the laces of his trousers, undoing them with little grace, until she feels him on the inside of her thigh, hard and eager.

“I want you,” Lyanna hears herself gasp, digging her nails into his sides. Within moments he’s inside her, pressed on top of her, pushing into her so that he is all she feels. Her head tilts back as a moan escapes her open mouth; Robert takes this chance to hold her head gently, lowering his lips to her skin. Each kiss he pressed to her exposed neck, each languid thrust of his hips, seemed to be physical apologies, little sorries for each and every wrong. She, in turn, would claw at his back, murmur and moan, accepting each regret with pleasure.

Lyanna understood that this was a wordless apology, done with kisses instead of presents and immeasurable pleasure instead of heavy regret. She was a creature of wild desire paired with another; it didn’t come as a surprise that lust was the strongest feeling between the two.

The last thing that Lyanna remembers before succumbing to sleep was the firmness of his arm under her head, and his warm hands gliding across her skin.

* * *

 

After another two years it as Brandon had predicted: she bears a son for each year. The first is Steffon, a loud and colicky pup, driving Lyanna to near madness with his incessant cries. The second is Eddard, who, unlike his namesake, is just as rowdy as his brother. In these characteristics alone there is no doubt they are Robert’s children; but what is more, they both have hair as black as night with eyes as bright and bold as sapphires. They bear little resemblance to Jon, and as they grow older the differences increase. There is even a noted dissimilarity in their muscle structure; where her latter two children totter on legs that are round and chubby, Jon walks on long, lithe legs. But he proves to be the most affectionate of the bunch, looking after his younger siblings with sharp eyes and gentle hands.

All three boys take to different puppies as well; Renly kept Flopsy while Steffon and Eddard had Mopsy and Topsy, respectively, grey-and-white shadows that follow them around wherever they go. Jon lays claim to the black Lopsy, but renames him Balerion before his second nameday once Lyanna reads him the story of the Targaryen conquest; this comes much to Robert’s distaste and Lyanna’s concern. Regardless, the boys bond quickly to their pups, even little Eddard who didn’t even quite know what a dog was yet.

Robert had proven to be a more dedicated father than she had expected. He often stole away to see his sons, acting out adventures with Jon, tickling Steffon ’til he wet himself, and cradling Eddard in all carefulness. By the time Eddard is 10 months old and crawling, there is a shift. The younger two are on the floor with Robert as he jostles and plays with them while Jon took to picture books in a chair above them all. The den quit being Lyanna’s private haven; every evening it would fill up with her pack, husband, pups, and all as they went about their favorite things.

Despite all these differences, all three say 'mama' before 'papa'.

It had been a regular evening with a countdown to Eddard’s first nameday underway. It was in less than a month’s time.

Mopsy and Topsy laid by Lyanna's armchair, where she sat with a book in hand, reading of the history of the Night’s Watch. She had been pleased to read the names of Starks in the book, men who held positions of power and honor among their brothers. Robert was on the floor, throwing a gurgling Eddard up and down as Steffon whapped at him with a child's wooden sword. Jon sat off to the side with Balerion beside him, looking up from his picture book every now and again, checking to make sure everyone was unharmed. In a few moments, Lyanna knew Robert would take a break to ask his usual question.

"What are you reading, Lya?" He sat up with Eddard and Steffon sitting exhausted in his lap. Mopsy and Topsy saunter over to him, laying their heads in their respective little masters' laps.

"It's about the Night's Watch," she replies with a smile. "Stories of men with more honor than you."

"And less pleasure," Robert returns the jape with a grin.

Lyanna sees Jon get up from his place and walk over to her with Balerion right behind him. "What's a Night Watch?" he asks in his usual curious fashion.

"They are brave and honorable men who protect us from the Others," Lyanna informs him softly.

"What are the Others?" he asks.

"Oi, you don't want to be hearing of fairytales,” Robert cuts in with a frown. "Lyanna, don't tell him."

Jon seems to ignore him as he clambers into her lap to peer at the book in her hands. "Read to me, mama," he requests of her as he often did.

"If that's what you want, my sweet." She kisses the top of his curly head, pleased by his wonder.

"That boy likes stories more than swords. It's not normal," Robert points out.

"Gods forbid our son be intelligent," Lyanna replies sardonically.

"I didn't mean that."

"Besides, he likes swords. Don't you like swords, Jon?" He nods, and Lyanna smiles. "He watches you so eagerly when you train. And you said it yourself the other day-"

"Alright, woman, that's enough," Robert grumbles, defeated. Steffon begins to hit him with his sword again. "Watch your brother now," Robert warns him before cradling Eddard in the crook of his arm.

"Did you know that your uncle Benjen’s in the Night's Watch?" Lyanna tells little Jon, who rested against her with eyes still on the text. "Starks have manned the Wall for hundreds of years."

"Is it fun?" he asks her.

"I don't know about that. But they do go on adventures sometimes."

"Oi, Lya," Robert calls out to her. She looks over at him to find Steffon resting his little head on Mopsy's middle with sleepy eyes and sword still in hand. Eddard had already slept on his arm, mouth open slightly. Her heart warms at the sight. "When will you give me another babe?"

Lyanna blinks at him, baffled. "Can't you give your poor wife a break?" she says in jest. "I've given you three pups in a row without a rest in between."

"It's been near a year since Eddard now. What's taking you so long?"

"Robert-"

"It isn't like we don't do it enough. Granted I get too eager sometimes-"

"Robert!" Lyanna hisses, dropping the book to cover Jon's ears. "The children can hear you."

"They're all asleep," Robert replies dumbly.

"Jon isn't," Lyanna reminds him.

"Bah," Robert grumbles. "Let's put these boys to bed and get started on a fourth babe. I'll be real good to you tonight-"

"Robert-"

"If you get angry at me, then all the better. We do our best work after a fight." Lyanna can think of no better reaction than throwing her book at the back of his head, which he laughs mirthfully at.

"Gods be good, Robert, you are shameless," she tells him, blushing red. He laughs again then gets to his feet, carefully scooping up Steffon in his other arm. Lyanna carries Jon with her and follows her husband to their nurseries with the dogs not far behind. Jon is already asleep by the time she reaches his room, separate from his younger brothers, and she tucks him in with a kiss on his forehead.

Large arms wrap around her waist from behind as lips are pressed to her temple. "How about you give me a daughter this time?" Robert murmurs huskily against her skin, holding her tighter all the while.

"I can try," Lyanna says with a chuckle, leaning into him.

"A little girl to sing and dance for me and keep our sons in line."

"If she is anything like me, she won't like to sing nor dance."

"If she's anything like you, her brothers will worship her."

Lyanna does not respond to this, the response conjuring up warm memories. How she would love to see it! A little daughter who will have her brothers stumbling over each other to attend to her. But if she were born with her spirit, she wouldn't need them to. She could fight and ride and rule her brothers, as Lyanna had- as Lyanna still did.

Robert gathers her up in his arms, already kissing her and tasting of beer.

* * *

 

"Let's have a tourney," Robert announces to her suddenly the next day, after they had put up their swords and begun to make their way inside.

Lyanna licks her lips, salty from sweat. "If I had a golden dragon for each time you've told me that, dearest Robert, I'd be very wealthy indeed." They step inside and their sons run up to them with their dogs in tow.

"I mean it this time," Robert shoots back. "For Eddard's nameday and your pregnancy."

"Robert, we do not know that I'm pregnant," Lyanna says with a smile, delighted at the thought.

"I've got a good feeling about last night. You're going to be pregnant.”

"Pregnant?" Jon says softly, furrowing his brows. "Mama is going to have another babe?"

"We don't know yet, my sweet," Lyanna croons at her little son.

"She is. She will," Robert insists in his usual confidence.

At that moment, Wallace walks over to them, his usual sour frown on his face. He doesn’t like Lyanna any better from the start, though he is more accepting to her suggestions. Lyanna doesn’t mind; she only wants his surrender.

“My lord, my lady,” he says curtly. He pulls a roll of paper from his pocket and puts it out to Lyanna. “A letter for you, my lady, though the author is unknown.” Lyanna takes it with caution; there is a blank blue seal keeping it closed.

“Wallace, let’s go plan ourselves a tourney,” Robert tells his steward, paying Lyanna’s letter no mind.

“Not for your son’s nameday I hope? There is little time for preparation-”

“Then quit your arguing and let’s get started,” Robert tells him.

Lyanna slips her thumb under the wax, unfurling the paper. The letter begins with an intimate greeting: _Sweet sister…_ For a moment, Lyanna thinks it Ned- but the seal is blank. _Ned always sealed his letters with his sigil,_ she reminds himself. She continues reading.

_Sweet sister,_

_I pray your marriage with our friend Robert is going well. Hopefully, you’ve been a good girl like I’ve asked you to and have helped him polish his sword every night. I hear it’s quite big- or is that just rumor?_

Lyanna began to blush madly. There was only one person…

_As for myself- surprise! I’m alive and well in Braavos, though I admittedly spent most of these years in Lys- you could probably guess why. I’m doing what we’ve always wanted to do (and no, I don’t meant the girls in Lys), and I’ve joined the Braavosi. Some of these men have less skill than you, even, which makes for easy pickings when I need some coin. I’d tell you to write me, but you likely couldn’t, as you’re sure to be busy chasing around ten children (not all of whom are yours). But, perhaps I’ll see you some time, when I can get all these women off me._

_Feel honored, Lya. I’ve written you first._

_Your favorite brother,  
Brandon_

“Robert!” Lyanna calls out, eager to share the letter with him. She looks around and finds he has already gone, likely with Wallace, to organize the tourney he promised. In the hall she finds only her children; Jon holds Eddard’s hand as he walks on wobbly legs and Steffon sits on Mopsy’s back, riding him like a horse.

She thought for a moment to barge into Robert’s meeting with his steward, but she knew it would only further Wallace’s distaste for her and distract Robert from giving her son a tourney.

“It can wait ’til tonight,” she whispers to herself, beaming as she read the letter again.

* * *

 

As soon as Robert enters their chambers that night, Lyanna speaks.

“Robert, come look at this- Brandon wrote me!” she exclaimed eagerly, bringing the paper to him. It was not until she was close to him did she notice the scowl on his face and the fiery glint in his eyes. He gives only a passing glance to the paper in her hands before moving past her. He removes his doublet with a vengeance, not patient enough to undo every button. Lyanna pockets the letter in her robe and moves to him, her fingers slowly working the buttons undone. “You were not at supper tonight,” she says softly, but does not ask why. Rage usually kept him away from his family.

“I wasn’t hungry,” he mumbles, but Lyanna can smell meat and beer on his breath. When the doublet is undone, he shrugs it off before tossing it to the floor. Lyanna begins to work on his blouse then, undoing the laces one by one.

“What has upset you, my love?” she asks in a sweet, even voice with her eyes on her hands, hoping to temper his fury through tenderness. It doesn’t work as well as she’d like.

“Apparently there’s some law somewhere that says that the king must be invited to every damned tourney in the land,” he growls with vitriol. “As if I want him here, to ruin everything with his damnable presence.”

“You don’t want to anger the king, Robert. He’s as mad as a dog; it’s safer to have him here than slighted hundreds of miles away,” Lyanna tells him softly. She opens the blouse, then slips her arms inside, wrapping them around his muscled torso while she laid her head against his chest.

“The king is sickly and bedridden,” Robert said. “Rhaegar would be coming in his place.”

Lyanna’s heart skips a beat at the name. She thanks the gods her face was turned away from him, for her eyes surely widened with fright. She keeps her lips closed tight, unwilling to respond in fear that her voice would come out trembling.

“I don’t want him here,” Robert snarls, his voice slowly getting louder. “I won’t let that bastard into my home after what he did. Gods, I won’t forget how he looked at you when he put that damned crown on your head. He looked about ready to kiss you there and then. I wish he did. Then that bastard would be dead.”

“Robert, please…” is all she can whisper without choking on her shame. He grabs her by the shoulders, yanking her from his chest. Lyanna raises her eyes hesitantly, only to find Robert looking at her with a mad glare.

“He wants you still, I’m sure,” he says harshly. “Those damned royals don’t know what belongs to them and what doesn’t. I don’t want him near you.”

Lyanna initially thinks to agree with him, for she didn’t want him near either. Though it had been four years since their night together, she still found herself thinking of him from time to time, particularly after a nasty quarrel with Robert. She couldn’t trust Rhaegar to ignore it, nor could she trust herself. But this was not some common lord- this was a prince. Her practical side urges her to convince Robert that all will go well, that they cannot risk a king’s wrath because Robert is resentful.

Lyanna had become a lady of Storm’s End and Robert Baratheon’s wife, no less. She had to be practical.

“Robert, that was over six years ago,” she tells him, laying her hands flat against his chest. “To tell you the truth, I had forgotten about the incident until you mentioned it. There is no doubt that Prince Rhaegar has as well.” The lie comes out smooth, but not enough to quell him.

“Strange hearing that from you,” Robert returns, and Lyanna forgets how to breathe for an instant. “I’d imagine that shaming your wife is something that is none too easily forgotten, particularly when everyone thinks you to be so bloody honorable.” He pulls away from her, turning his back as he walked to the dresser by the door. There is a pitcher of wine there, and a pair of goblets; he swiftly pours himself a glass of the drink. “I’d sooner refuse him than let him leer at you here.”

“He won’t be leering, Robert,” Lyanna says firmly, unwilling to be gentle any longer. “Even if he did, you and I will have to put up with it. He is a prince, and his father a deranged king; do you truly think such a slight would go unpunished?”

“I don’t care,” Robert grunts stubbornly, downing his cup before pouring another.

“If his father is sickly, then it means he will soon be king. You are lord of the Stormlands; he wants your support, not your ire. He’d be stupid to try to lift my skirts when he needs you.”

“Say he keeps his hands and eyes off you then,” Robert proposes with a wave of his goblet. “Who’s to say he won’t play at knight and crown you in the tourney instead- again?”

“He won’t,” Lyanna insists.

“Nay, he won’t. Not if I join,” Robert says with a satisfied grin.

“You will not join either,” Lyanna says, marching to his side to meet his eye. “It is your son’s tourney, not yours. If you lose-“

“I won’t lose.”

“Imagine how embarrassing that would be. Eddard will hear the story one day of how his father lost a tourney because he was too proud to let a grudge go. Let the glory go to some other knight.”

“I don’t want to give him the chance at glory either. Perhaps I ought to cancel the whole thing-“

“Don’t you dare,” Lyanna warns in loud, firm voice. “Don’t you dare take this away from our son. Give him his day.” Robert is silent. He only puts the goblet to his lips and looks away from her, disgruntled. Lyanna sighs, and then slinks up to his chest. “You speak of Rhaegar but you forget me.” Her hands move up and down his torso, feeling the hard muscle underneath her fingers. She rises on her toes to put a kiss to the corner of his jaw. “I want only you, dearest Robert. He can try to paw at me if he likes, but I’d sooner put a knife to his throat than let him have his way. Don’t you trust me?”

Robert puts his hand on the back of her neck, mussing the curls there. He looks to her with resignation, too proud to vocalize a response but too affected to refuse. Lyanna takes the goblet from his hand and sets it back on the dresser. “It is only an invitation, Robert. It is likely he may not come at all.”

“I suppose,” Robert only grumbles. His thumb brushes her cheek tenderly, letting her know that he had cooled, and that he apologized for doubting her. “Now, what was that about your brother?”

“It is the wildest affair. After four years, the idiot finally writes me.” Lyanna smiles and pulls the paper from her robe, handing it to Robert who smiles too.

While she goes to sleep content and sated in Robert’s arms, she finds herself wishing that Rhaegar wouldn’t come at all.


	7. vii - what is done is done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tourney begins, bringing with it a sea of worries enough to drown her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the comments- enjoy your second-to-last chapter!

The tourney was planned to be a week long; the first 5 days were to go to shows and smaller competitions, while the last two were for the joust.

The event had been tense from the start.

Many houses arrived despite its short notice; perhaps more than expected, as Lyanna had to quickly adjust as soon as she discovered just how many people they would bring along, as it seemed highborn men and women brought along bulky entourage. Robert had left the decision-making to her- an unwise choice by some accounts –and thus changes came quick and fluid.

Most of the attendants were glad to set their tents and wheelhouses on castle grounds, while others demanded special attention. Such houses included the Tyrells, whose patriarch, Mace Tyrell, decided on bringing all four of his children along with a dozen servants. The Martells requested chambers as well, though it was only Lewyn and Oberyn, as Doran remained in Dorne. There was no sure sign that the Lannisters were to come, but Lyanna had rooms prepared for them if they did; and if they did come, it would be with the royal family, whom Lyanna hoped wouldn’t come at all.

One house that was sure not to come was that of her own. Ned had written saying that Catelyn was still recovering from the birth of their second child, Sansa, and he had chosen to stay with her. While Lyanna respected his loyalty, she was admittedly disappointed. Even Benjen wrote saying that he would not attend, as he was still a newcomer in the eyes of the Night’s Watch, and not yet earned his right to go on holiday.

The stress of the tourney had only increased, as the first day of festivities was only a few days away. She had snapped at many a servant and kissed many a cheek of ladies from gods know where, and had been an unfriendly mate to Robert, who had remained so detached from preparation he believed it to be going quite well. A night of her tears and shouts had been enough for him to keep his distance.

At least until a rider came the day before the tourney and alerted them that the royal procession was no more than a few hours away.

Lyanna had gathered up her pups into a single bath, scrubbing them clean as they splashed the water and giggled before handing them off to servants with orders to have them dried and dressed immediately. Robert had slinked off to their chambers to growl and groan over the news, much to Lyanna’s distaste.

“Rhaegar’s coming after all, the-“

“With his wife, Robert, with Elia,” she reminded him as she pulled a gown over her head.

“You think he’d be good enough to stay away. Stupid-”

“Lace me up, Robert,” she asked of him, her temper running dangerously short.

“Now I’ve got to watch as he-“

“Robert, lace me _up_ ,” she repeated in a near shout, tears springing into her eyes. Why did he have to be so difficult?

After having the pleasure of putting his hands on her body by lacing her up, he resorted only to grumbles before getting dressed himself.

By the time the procession was in sight, Lyanna, Robert, and their children stood at the front gates surrounded by a multitude of other houses. Her heart beat madly against her chest, thumping in her head and making her short of breath. He was to be in sight any moment now: the man she once loved, the man she gave her maiden’s gift to, the man she nearly married. As if sensing her fright, Jon slipped his hand into hers. By his touch alone, she calmed.

A herald announced royal family: “Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, son of King Aerys, second of his name, King of the Seven Kingdoms and his lady wife, Princess Elia.”

All swiftly dropped to kneel, but Lyanna’s heart started up again. She heard horses clopping, creaky wheels turning, children making noise, and then a voice, so regal, so firm, so familiar…

“Rise, my lords and ladies.”

It was Rhaegar.

Lyanna rises on trembling legs, thanking the gods for the first time that women were made to wear long dresses. She keeps her eyes to the ground, unwilling to look up and have her face betray her. But then Steffon begins to shout in glee, Eddard mimicking him right after, and Lyanna turns to the children with furrowed brows.

“Hush, little pups,” she whispers tremulously.

“Knight! Knight!” Steffon still continues to shout and point. Lyanna’s eyes follow his finger to the row of Kingsguard knights, dressed in their pale armor, as white as freshly fallen snow. Even with their helms on, Lyanna recognizes three of them.

She returns her gaze to the ground until Robert’s low growl beside her prompts her to look forward. Rhaegar was walking toward them with Elia and his two children by his side. His eyes were on Robert, not her, and she is glad for it.

“My lord of Baratheon,” Rhaegar says to Robert; Lyanna steals a glance over at her husband to find him hardly concealing the jut in his square jaw. “I thank you for the invitation to your tourney. I haven’t attended one in years, but I recall that your grandmother was a Targaryen; I came out of shared blood, and for a chance to apologize.”

Lyanna’s eyes snap to Rhaegar despite herself. His hand was extended, with those intoxicating purple eyes rested so warmly on Robert, those fine lips forming a soft, sad smile. He was as tall as she remembered, as tall as Robert, which was no small feat, but lithe where Robert was broad. He hadn’t changed in the least.

Robert meets his eyes with an intensity Lyanna was familiar with. He takes the prince’s hand, giving it a firm shake that might have crushed the fingers of a weaker man. “It’s a little late for an apology, my lord,” Robert seethes, and Lyanna’s jaw nearly drops. But Rhaegar only continued smiling.

“You are entirely correct. I fear I must blame myself for that. The kindness of your invitation came most appreciated, despite that.”

When his eyes came to rest on Lyanna, she finds that she feels nothing. Her skin did not warm, no color rose to her cheeks, and her heart remained still. She dips into a curtsey, which he returns with a respectful bow. His eyes stray to her children, and she finds herself squeezing Jon’s hand a little tighter.

“The little one is Eddard, I presume?” Rhaegar asks.

“Aye,” Robert answers for her.

“Happy nameday, little one,” is all he says before moving onto another lord and lady.

Elia then walks to Lyanna, and it is embarrassment that colors her cheeks. This was the woman she shamed, after all, once in public and another in private. Guilt and regret built up in her throat, preventing her from speaking; Elia ought to slap her, as she certainly had the right to. But the woman is kind, giving her a soft warm smile, and kissing her cheeks twice. Lyanna notes that she is as frail and gaunt as she remembered, but still beautiful.

“Welcome to Storm’s End, my lady,” Lyanna manages to choke out. Elia nods, still smiling, before following her husband with a sort of grace Lyanna that one could only be born with- one Lyanna could never develop.

 

* * *

 

The first night was Eddard’s nameday feast.

Steffon had been in the highest spirits, higher than that of his brother’s, when he learned of the sweets that they would have. Honeyfingers, lemon cakes, tarts- or as he called them, “honeythings, lay-mon cakes, and tats”. His glee was contagious, however, and Eddard soon began to giggle and shout as his brother had.

A table had been set for the hosting house and the royal family, much to Robert’s displeasure. He had grumbled all last night over the kindness and humility Rhaegar had displayed, upset that he appeared the smaller man in the situation. “Now I’ll be made to sit next him,” he had moaned, driving Lyanna to near madness. Her temper had already been short, with lords and ladies complaining in her ear for the past few days, and his lack of sympathy had angered her some.

Despite the palpable tension between the two men, Robert agreed to tolerate the prince, who had been more than kind the entire evening. Lyanna sat by Elia, with whom she also shared some tension, but none too strong as the men. Such matters were none too obvious, however; the music played loudly, ladies gossiped, and men drank without paying them any mind.

“Your children have grown so much since I’ve last seen them. They are beautiful,” Lyanna said to Elia with uncharacteristic bashfulness. They were still only two: Rhaenys and Aegon. Lyanna had heard rumors that the princess was unable to produce any more children; it appeared they were true. Elia’s stunning green eyes meet hers with kindness.

“Thank you,” Elia responded with a small smile. “I must admit, I had surprised to hear that you’ve three children already. All sons, too; the gods smiles upon you.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Lyanna says, and for some reason she finds herself blushing. “I pray you are not angry with me.” The words slip from her lips, and Lyanna bites her tongue for it. _Stupid girl, don’t bring it up…_

“I am not, Lady Lyanna. It had not been your fault,” She smiles, and brushes her fingers on Lyanna’s hand. “Whatever had occurred between you and my husband is in the past. It is behind us.”

Lyanna’s heart goes still; for a moment, just the briefest second, she sees recognition flashing in Elia’s green eyes, as if she knew more than she let on, and not just of a crown of flowers.

“Mama,” a childish voice calls to her. Lyanna blinks, looking over the table to see Jon looking up at her. “Eddard is asleep.” Lyanna looks past him to she her son cradled in a nurse’s arms with sticky crumbs plastered around his mouth. “I think he ate too many sweets.”

“Thank you, my love,” Lyanna says to him. “Ask the nurse if she may clean his face and put him to bed.” Jon nods, and walks off to complete his task.

“How old is he?” Elia asks beside her.

“Jon is a little over 3 years of age, my lady,” Lyanna responds, blinking at the princess beside her.

“What an intelligent child,” she muses. “He looks just like you.”

Lyanna doesn’t know how to respond. She swallows hard, and then looks back to her children, watching the nurse walk off with Eddard in her arms. She sees Aegon chasing Steffon, nearly running into several serving maids as they did. Jon sat with other children his age, among them Margaery Tyrell, a little flower of a girl. After scanning the room further, she finds Rhaenys, the spitting image of her mother, sitting at a table with other girls, her back straight with her gaze fixed politely on another child. They were all innocent children, with no sense of politics of the inner workings of their parents’ minds.

Lyanna wishes for a moment she were one of them.

Elia rises to her feet beside her. “I think I shall retire to my chambers,” Elia said softly. “Thank you for the evening, Lady Lyanna.” Lyanna rises as well and offers a curtsey. She watches as Elia walks off; a man chases after her, which from the back she faintly recognizes as Oberyn Martell.

When she lowers herself back into her seat, Robert’s hand settles on her thigh. She looks to him, blue eyes looking forward with a goblet on his lips. With a peek, she sees Rhaegar speaking to someone else beside him.

“Did you see Eddard?” Lyanna asks him casually. “He had crumbs all over his-“

Robert grunts, cutting her short. With a grimace, Lyanna starts again.

“You did wish him a happy nameday, didn’t you?” Lyanna asks with less softness.

“I had the whole hall raise a glass to him, didn’t I?” Robert returns gruffly.

“Yes, you did. But did you go to him yourself?”

“Sure.” His hand creeps up her thigh, moving closer inside. Lyanna grips his wrist, then forces a tight smile forward, trying to see as nonchalant as possible.

“I know what you’re doing,” she says through gritted teeth. He wishes to prove something, that she was his and that he had the right to touch her as he may. It was a shameful show of ownership; one Lyanna did not want to be a part of. “Stop,” she demands firmly.

His hand leaves her thigh to pick up the pitcher of wine instead, pouring himself another glass.

“Robert, please,” she says with a sigh. “Don’t drink. You’ve had enough.”

He suddenly slams his goblet on the table, causing the pitcher to fall over, spilling wine on the table. “What else would you like, my queen?” Robert hisses at her, leaning into her so that she could smell the drink on his breath. “Shall I turn you over to our friend here and call it a night?”

“Robert, stop,” she says again, trying desperately to keep her voice down. She felt some eyes land on her, and she finds herself blushing hotly.

“He won’t stop looking at you, damn it. Doesn’t he know that you’re mine? You belong to me,” he insists, putting a hand on the back of her neck, crushing his lips against her. With sudden passion, Lyanna wrenches herself from him, cursing under her breath as she rose to her feet.

“Make sure our children get to bed,” she hisses at him before walking out of the feasting hall with eyes following her.

Jealousy had already taken hold in Robert, and it was only the first night.

* * *

 

Her children’s happiness was paramount for the next few days.

She took them to all the mummer’s shows they wished to see, every competition they had interest in, and gave them all the sweets they desired. Though Eddard was still little, and would often cry out of confusion or fright, he found himself more often gurgling with laughter than shouting, which was music to Lyanna’s ears. A smile rarely left Jon and Steffon’s faces as the two drank their surroundings in, stopping to ogle at every knight that passed by.

After a few hours with her children, she would hand them off to nurses to perform her duty in the gardens by sitting with ladies and drinking tea. Lyanna found them tiresome creatures, only ever speaking of their husbands and their children, and always putting on a mask of perfection. None professed any interest beyond producing children and homemaking, making them ill suited to Lyanna’s taste. She had made the mistake of bringing up her honeymoon, saying that they camped in Rainwood and hunted for food, and she was met with astonished stares, as if it were just the _wildest_ thing they has ever heard.

She mostly kept silent after that.

The same practice was carried out in her bedchambers every evening; she offered no words to Robert beyond basic formalities. He did, at the very least, appear ashamed of his actions, looking away sheepishly whenever Lyanna pinned him with a hateful stare. In an effort to make amends, he would offer to take the children for the day, or speak with a troublesome lord. Lyanna had let him perform these tasks for her, but when he came to bed expecting a reward, she gave him none.

Supper remained an awkward affair, however. Robert sat at the table for no longer than an hour before finding some crowd that would shower him with attention. He would still look over from time to time to scowl at Rhaegar, then cast hangdog eyes on her. Though an empty seat was all that separated her from her former flame, she found that Rhaegar did not exchange words with her. Lyanna would only carry polite conversation with Elia, who seemed to always retire early.

It had been clear to her, and likely everyone else, that the poor princess was sickly. She was dangerously thin, her bones jutting at the elbows and shoulders. Her gait was slow and deliberate, though Oberyn always rushed to her side to offer his arm as support.

_Why did she come, then?_ Lyanna wondered. _Why didn’t she stay home?_

Lords often went to events without their wives, and such was the same with princes and princesses. It would have been no slight if she remained- and yet she came.

Suddenly, it occurred to Lyanna. It was the same reason Lyanna despised Robert’s going out at night: she didn’t know what her husband would do or whom he would see. Elia came not for her own benefit, but to keep an eye on her husband. It was not in fear of him visiting common whores either- it was to keep him from her.

Lyanna didn’t dare to look over at Rhaegar.

* * *

 

A feast was had to kick off the tourney to be held the last two days.

The great hall was more crowded than usual, with its men more indulgent and the ladies giggling madly, each one hoping they would be crowned by the end of the week. Lyanna was not among these women; she had already been crowned once, and did not want it again.

After the children had been put to bed, Lyanna retired to her chambers, her head throbbing. The past five days had been trying Lyanna’s temper more than her whole life combined. Lords were complaining of the taste of the wine, ladies found the sea air to be much ill suited to their hair (and somehow, it was her fault), men were causing brawls over girls, and everyone seemed unfriendly after they had been in the sun.

Poachers, rabble-rousers, thieves- Lyanna dealt with them all without a single helping hand. Perhaps she may have expected the apathy from Wallace, who had no love for her, but it was Robert’s indifference that stung the most. She had it in her mind to break the silence with her husband that evening and simply speak her mind; a dangerous act to pull with one as bull-headed as him, but one that was unavoidable.

She stayed up for him, pacing the bedroom with arms crossed over her chest, as she made a list of all the things she meant to say to him. There were more than a few expletives and a strategic use of tears, but Lyanna was not above such exchanges.

When the door opened to her chambers, she turned to greet Robert with a cold stare. “Good evening, my lord,” she says between gritted teeth, her anger already built up. “I pray the feast did please you.”

Robert walks up to her, her words rolling off him. His hands grip her waist, pulling her to him as he crushed his lips against hers. Her heart began to pound, not out of amour, but out of fear. He tasted of wine and beer and all sorts of drink, each one a threat against her. She shoves him away from her, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“You’re drunk,” Lyanna says flatly.

“You’re mine,” is all he says in return before he comes to her again. Lyanna tries to move past him, but he grabs hold of her again, this time from behind, pressing her back to his chest. His hands fly to the front of her nightgown, fumbling with the laces as Lyanna kept trying to pry his fingers off. “Shoulda seen the way he looked at you,” he growls in her ear, his breath hot on her skin. “Wanted to fuck you, but you’re mine.”

“Robert, stop,” she begins to whisper as she struggled against him. Her robe had already slipped off her shoulders, and her nightgown was nearly unlaced. Panic rose in her throat, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Mine,” he kept hissing in her ear. “Mine, you’re mine.”

“No,” she whimpers, fright still pumping through her. “Stop it, please, stop.” He has her legs against the edge of the bed; with a single push she would be bent over and hopeless. Robert’s hand leaves her breast to slink up her neck, over her chin, likely hoping to find the back of her neck. But as it ghosts over her mouth, Lyanna snarls and sinks her teeth down into it.

She knows she breaks skin when the taste of blood fills her mouth. Robert howls, shoving her away, and she falls onto the bed panting, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She wipes at her mouth, gazing dazed at the scarlet liquid staining her white hand.

“Gods,” she hears Robert curse above her. He looks to her with clear eyes filled with shame, and for a moment it seems as if he’s sober, but his slurred speech betrays him. “Gods, I… Lyanna, I-“ He reaches for her, perhaps with kindness, but Lyanna does not allow him.

“Don’t touch me!” she shouts once more, before clambering off the bed, her shaking legs taking her to the door.

She hears what might have been begging as she runs, runs far away from him, from bedchambers that were never hers, from the castle that she never belonged in.

* * *

 

It was cold outside.

She rubbed her bare arms, trying to warm herself. She had left her robe in the bedchambers, and she had yet to close the front of her nightgown, but there was no need. No one was in the gardens.

It was strange to see the grounds so desolate. Teacups sat empty on the tables, food littered the ground, and swords could be seen gleaming in the moonlight, all symbols that people were once here.

She didn’t know quite where she was going. Her feet seemed to be leading her somewhere, somewhere deep in the gardens. She trusted that it would be somewhere safe, at least, someplace where she may stay until Robert went to sleep. She could not go to another bedchamber, after all; most were already occupied, and she did not wish to knock on doors ‘til she found one that didn’t.

Leaves crunch underfoot as she nears a pool, twinkling underneath the moonlight. Lyanna blinks, and sees the heart tree by it, and she realizes where she is. Immediately, her senses fill with memories of home. It grew colder, with the smell of damp grass and rotting leaves in her nostrils while she imagined a forest surrounding her heart tree.

Lyanna sits by the pool, leaning against the sturdy pale trunk of the weirwood. It welcomed her like a mother, with its red arms wrapping around her and ensuring safe conduct.

She nearly drifts off to sleep, but the crunch of leaves prompts her to open her eyes again. A tall shadow walked toward her, one as tall as Robert, and she stiffens, sitting up abruptly and eyeing the creature with caution.

“Who’s there?” she asks fiercely, her wolf-blood emboldening her.

He steps into the moonlight.

“I had thought you might be here tonight,” a voice says, one that flowed like wine and was sweeter too. One that had sang to her, carressed her, and whispered her name in her hair, but only once.

“Rhaegar,” she whispers with a tenderness she thought she had thrown away years ago. “What are you doing here?”

“Perhaps you could say I dreamt it,” he responds, his eyes sparkling. “Might I sit?” he asks, motioning to the ground across from the pool.

“I suppose,” she murmurs. A breeze dances across her breasts, and Lyanna blushes, her hand flying to her nightgown to hold it closed.

The two sit in silence, the weight of their thoughts filling the time instead. Lyanna should have felt uncomfortable in it, but she finds herself strangely at peace. _It is because of the heart tree. It’s comforting,_ she tells herself.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” Rhaegar says, his eyes finding hers in the dark.

“Nor I,” Lyanna responds, swallowing the lump in her throat. Never in a hundred years.

“I missed you,” he confesses in a voice smooth as silk. Lyanna’s mouth opens as if to return the words, but it closes again. She didn’t know whether it would be a lie or not, and she didn’t want to know. “It’s strange to see you by his side when you spoke so harshly of him.” Robert, he means.

“I was younger, then,” Lyanna says, as if it weren’t obvious. They both were younger then, but it seemed as if Rhaegar still didn’t change. He was still beautiful, still compelling. His words still held power over her, and she hated that.

“But just as beautiful,” Rhaegar returns. “Not a night goes by where I don’t think of you.”

“Don’t say that,” she says to him, her voice turning cold.

“You’ve forgotten me, then,” he says as a statement, not as a question. Lyanna does not reply, fearful of her own words, of the truth. She never forgot him. “I supposed you would. You’ve three sons and a husband to think of now.”

“I hate him,” she hears herself speak out of bitterness, though it was not the truth.

“Did you harm you tonight?” he asks, his voice pleasant against her ears.

“He tried,” she told him. “By luck I was spared.”

“But not without blood, I see.”

Lyanna licks her lips, forgetting the taste of it.

“I wish you had run with me,” Rhaegar confesses to her. His sad eyes look down to his distorted reflection in the glassy mirror, an image that was all too familiar to her. Lyanna cannot speak, stunned by his words and the vision before. Of all the times she dreamt of a reunion, she did not imagine it like this. Not with sorrow, not with regret. “Your son, Jon- he looks just like you.” Words she had heard countless times from countless lips, most recently Princess Elia. They stun her like they always do. “He is three years of age, is he not?” he asks her. She remains silent. “Is he mine?”

“No,” she contests fiercely, balling her fists. “He is mine.”

“And Robert’s?”

“Robert is his father,” Lyanna insists, but its meaning was questionable.

“I’m not here to take him from you,” Rhaegar tells her in kindness, softening her biting nerves. “Might I come closer?” he asks, and the question baffles her for a moment. Lyanna nods dumbly, but does not move from her spot when he sits beside her.

“This is familiar,” Rhaegar says to the stars above him. “You and I, under a heart tree.”

“Rhaegar, please…” is all she is able to say before tears begin to spill. The closeness of him coupled with old memories made for weakness; she became an unhappy sixteen year old girl again, desperate for love and security. His long fingers brush at her cheek, pushing away the tears. When his lips meet hers she tastes the salt, and he licks away at it.

The sound of a wave crashing against shore pulls her from the moment.

“Rhaegar, we can’t,” she hears herself say. “Our time is done.”

“Not for me,” he insists with a mournful savageness. “Not a day goes by where I don’t remember our night together.”

“It was only a night,” she returns. “It was foolish and reckless.”

“Yes, it was,” he agrees, but smiles anyways. “I can’t stand being apart from you. I can’t stand see you so miserable.”

“I am not miserable,” she chokes out, then remembers her open nightgown. Her hand goes to her breast again, shutting the wind out.

“You’re not good at lies, Lyanna,” Rhaegar says tenderly. “Even through your letters I could tell what was truth and what was not.”

“Even if I was miserable, what can I do? I am here now, and married to him, and there is little that can be done about that.”

“Come away with me,” he tells her, reaching a hand out. “I need you.”

Lyanna stares at his hand, dumbfounded at the proposal. Her eyes travel up to his face, wracked with desperation, and a short laugh bursts from her lips. “I don’t remember you being one to jest, Rhaegar.”

“It is no jest.”

“I’m married,” she hears herself asserting, a chuckle still in her voice. “I have children. And so do you! By the gods, so do you.”

“It doesn’t matter. I was willing to leave it all behind then, and I can do it now.”

“Selfish,” the word slips past her lips. “You are selfish. It seems Robert was right in thinking that you wanted me still. Perhaps you were looking at me like you wanted to fuck me.”

“Lyanna, it is not-“

“What excuse can you possibly have? You have responsibilities, more than I. You are to be king, and here you are, chasing at my skirts again.” Lyanna gets to her feet, and Rhaegar does the same. “And it is no different from the last time, either. Perhaps we are a thousand miles south now, but it is the same, your coming to me under my heart tree and proposing when I am upset with Robert. In a few moments you might make love to me.”

“I love you, Lyanna Stark,” Rhaegar insists to her, inching closer.

“Lyanna Baratheon,” she says with a tilt of her chin. “I am a Stark by birth, but a Baratheon by marriage. You’d do well to remember that.” She tries to move past him, but he blocks her with his arm, pinning her with fiery eyes, like that of a slighted dragon.

“So you’ll return to him? He forces himself on you and mistreats you, and you choose to remain? This is unlike you.”

“What is like me, then? Tell me, do you still see a girl of six-and-ten before you?” His lips twitch, but do not move. “I have three sons who worship me and a stupid bull of a husband who owes me more than an apology. I’ve no choice but to return.”

“I’m giving you a choice.”

“Then I choose no.” As she tries again to move past him, he presses his lips to hers again; this time, Lyanna acts swiftly, pushing him away. He staggers back, bracing himself on the heart tree and looking at her, incredulous. “Good night, your grace. I pray you enjoy the tourney tomorrow.” With her hand still on her breast, Lyanna offers a curtsey before walking back into the night.

The sea breeze wraps around her, leading her back home and holding her tight until she was indoors again.


	8. viii - hers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The storm, then the calm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for reading! i hope you've enjoyed this as much as i did, as i truly do stand by this pairing with the belief that it couldn't have been all that bad. :)

The last two days of the tourney passed with little incident, which came as a welcome relief to a tumultuous week.

Lyanna had found it difficult to enjoy the tourney with Robert beside her. He had been wise enough to keep away from her bed, though he seemed to be constantly attempting to make amends outside of it. His hand would brush hers at supper (a hand that she could not help but noticed was wrapped in linen cloth), prompting Lyanna to retract her own immediately. He mumbled compliments when he sat beside her at the tourney, patted her knee, and sighed despondently in hopes of garnering a response, but Lyanna was not quick to forgive. She recoiled from his touches and paid no heed to his honeyed words.

If Robert's advances weren't enough, Rhaegar's presence still weighed heavily on her soul. Their exchange had been one that brought her much private shame, as it was an unforgivable infidelity. Though it had, for a short moment, done well to let her forget the troubles around her, after it was done it seemed to all come rushing back, only with an added sense of guilt. Rhaegar had said she had a choice last night and a night four years ago, but she slowly came to realize that there had only ever been one clear answer. To send the kingdom reeling and drive her family dizzy with shame was punishment enough for an act so selfish. Lyanna knew she would never be so foolish as to fall for his poetic words again. Still, Rhaegar had continued to flash his eyes to her from his elevated seat, the violet orbs alerting her that it was not too late to change her mind. She returned these glances with cold disdain coupled with pointed glances to his stoic wife beside him.

Elia was not somber the entire week, however. Her brother Oberyn Martell had won the tourney with a vengeance, nearly killing one eager knight and sending even Oswell Whent toppling off his horse. When the crown of pink and yellow roses was placed upon his lance, he dropped it in Elia's lap, but not without a fiery glance sent Rhaegar's way. Lyanna recalled feeling elated, clapping madly for the princess. When her eyes went to Rhaegar, her smile died when she found that his face was still as stone, looking at the flowers with stark disinterest.

He did not even have the decency to feign shame.

None left before supper on the seventh and final evening, but most of the guests had vacated the grounds by the next afternoon. Lyanna had taken it upon herself to pay her goodbyes to the lords and ladies, following through with what was standard for a lady in her position. She had admittedly been surprised to see Robert doing his own sending off, catching a glimpse of him slapping Richard Lonmouth on the back and kissing the hand of his new wife. It was a fine sight, to see her lord husband behave as such, but not one that garnered much love.

When it came to the royal family, it had been discovered that Rhaegar rode ahead of the procession late last evening, taking with him only Sers Arthur and Oswell. Lyanna was glad for it. In his absence, she kissed Elia's bony cheeks and bade her safe passage on the way home. The princess gave her a soft but dazzling smile, and in turn wished her a happy, healthy life. It was when she turned to walk to her wheelhouse, Aegon and Rhaenys in tow, that Lyanna found herself wishing they had met in another time, under a different set of circumstances. She had no doubt they would make very good friends indeed.

After a day of farewells, Lyanna retired early to an empty bed. Exhaustion and stress had done a number on her body strong enough to keep the strings inside her short and taut, but the end of a wild week left her with an overwhelming feeling of relief. Her body fell like a sack of stones onto her featherbed, and slumber had been kind enough to quickly pull her into its welcome embrace.

She knew very well that she would need the rest; she sensed a storm coming her way.

* * *

 

Some stragglers remained on the grounds; ones Lyanna had no patience to deal with. Thus, when she first caught word of them that morning, she marched over to Wallace's solar. Throwing open his door, she let herself in, much to the apparent chagrin of the enigmatic steward. He had sighed heavily, as if she were truly the greatest burden in his sorry life, and opened his mouth as if to speak, but Lyanna allowed him no such liberties.

"How lovely it is to see that you have returned from holiday! Tell me, did you like the Dornish red I ordered? Or was the Arbor gold more suited to your taste?" She spoke with sarcasm dripping off every word. "Now that you've returned, I've a task for you. There are people still loitering on my grounds, people of ill repute as I have been told, and I want them gone before something precious is stolen. You have servants, squires, stableboys, and the guard is at your command. Get it done for me, will you?"

Without listening to a response, Lyanna turned on her heel and exited his solar, pleased with herself.

In hopes of lightening her mood, she makes her way to Steffon and Eddard's nursery, where Jon would surely have joined his brothers in playing. When she opens the doors, she is greeted by a chorus of excited “mamas”, along with the pants of dogs, as Steffon and Eddard threw themselves at her legs. Jon lingers back, ever the watchful sentinel, but smiling up at her as well.

"I've come to play with you, little pups," Lyanna tells them, garnering more squeals and hollers. When her sons let go of her legs, she plops down on the far side of the nursery, where only Jon comes to entertain her. The younger two boys' fickle attention had already been grasped by a set of toys strewn across the floor. Jon sits beside her with a book in hand; Balerion follows, laying his head in Jon's lap, who is too enthralled by the book to pay attention.

Lyanna peeks over to see that it is a true book, with words on every page; for a moment, Lyanna is taken aback thinking that her son has learned to read. She is proven false when she notes that he skips over the pages without pictures, but lingers on the ones that do.

"What is your book about, Jon?" Lyanna asks him.

"A battle, I think," he mumbles back, furrowing his brows in concentration.

"How scary," she says with exaggerated awe. "Tell me, do you think you can fight in a battle?"

Jon looks up from his book to blink at her. "I don't know."

"Well, first you must past a test. Would you like to take that test?"

Jon nods his head eagerly. Lyanna feigns drama, miming stretches and preparation, before bringing her fingers to Jon's side and tickling him. He begins to giggle madly, the book falling from his hands, and in moments Eddard and Steffon are at her side, begging to take the test too.

Lyanna ceases to torment Jon, then looks to her two younger sons. "It is no easy test, little pups," she says with a broad smile.

"I wanna!" Steffon cried; Eddard mimics him in sounds and gurgles.

"Very well!" She pulls both of them into her lap, and begins to tickle them too.

It was in her children that Lyanna found her joy: their high-pitched giggles, wide eyes, sticky hands, and all. If contentment were impossible in her marriage, then she could always find it in the fruits of her union. Whether they came from Robert's seed or not, they were her little babes, and ones she could always lay claim to.

Lyanna does not know how much time passed before the door opened. She had been on her hands and knees, pretending to be wolves with her sons, howling as they howled until Steffon staged an attack that sent Eddard and Jon throwing themselves at her too. The sound of her own breathless laughs was all she heard until someone cleared their voice quite loudly.

Lyanna quickly sits up, her hair surely a wild mess around her face, and meets the eye of Robert Baratheon. She falls grave at the sight of him, reflexively pulling Eddard, who had fallen in her lap, closer to her. The boys greet their father as they greeted her, running up to him and clinging to his legs, but his attentions are fixed on her with hangdog eyes.

"We ought to talk," he says softly, clearing his throat again. Lyanna notes that there is anxiousness in his voice, one unlike her arrogant husband.

"If you've anything to say, say it here," she tells him with a tilt of her chin. "Surely you wouldn't bring me harm in front of your children?"

Robert flinches, wounded by her words. Lyanna is not remorseful, but she is not cruel either. She had been waiting for him to come to her, was she not? Gently sliding Eddard off her lap, she gets to her feet, smoothing her dress and hair in the process. She follows Robert out the door, but does not shut it all the way. She plants her feet in the corridor, crossing her arms over her chest and trying not to seem so small in front of him.

The lack of privacy visibly perturbs Robert as his eyes follow a servant who passed them in the hall. But Lyanna does not wish to offer him comfort, choosing instead to remain as still as a statue. She presses her lips into a tight line as she awaits Robert to say the first word.

He runs his wrapped hand through his hair, clearly unsure of what to say. There is an uncharacteristic reluctance about him, as he seems to be piecing the right words to say. For nearly ten seconds Lyanna waits until he opens his mouth. "It was the wine," he blurts out. "You know how I get when I drink."

This is not an apology, she realizes. It's an excuse. Lyanna was having none of it. "You have come to bed drunk before, Robert, only not like that," she reminds him in a cold voice. When he was drunk he only got a little handsy and perhaps overly affectionate, but he was not mean or forceful, only stupid.

He hesitates before speaking again, only when he opens his mouth his words are harsh and honest. "He kept staring at you," he hisses, balling his fists. "You should have seen it. He looked at you as if you were something to be had, something he _wanted_ to have. Every damn night he would stare at you, and I-" His eyes softened all of a sudden, no longer burning. "It drove me mad," he admitted in a sheepish voice, appeared somewhat ashamed.

"You were jealous?" Lyanna asks, trying to seem surprised. In truth, Lyanna had always taken him to be a jealous man, hypocritical in that he wouldn't share his woman but would gladly share somebody else’s.

"Not jealous, I-" Lyanna cuts him off with an arch of a brow. "Perhaps a little," he mumbles, looking down to the floor. "It was vile, the way he looked at you."

"You truly are stupid," Lyanna says prompting Robert's eyes to jump back to her. "To be jealous of a man simply because his eyes roamed. What of your own friends who stared at me from across the room? Are they permitted to do so?" Lyanna recalled them; they were young men, snickering and smiling as their eyes flitted to her throughout the day.

"No!" Robert returned, the fire jumping back in his eyes. "I swear, Lyanna, if I had seen 'em I would have hit 'em for it. I would have hit Rhaegar if I had the chance; that would teach him."

"So instead of hitting him, you come to bed willing to force your way with me, the woman you wanted to protect."

"I went mad," he offers as a weak explanation. "I couldn't think right."

"You couldn't find a whore to take you that night?" Lyanna asks him with no special intonation. She was not stupid; she knew her husband frequented brothels from time to time, and whenever she caught wind of his infidelity she was quick to deny him his pleasures when he came to her bed. But an event as grand as a tourney meant that the whores would not be short of work, and that no amount of Lyanna’s frigidity would keep him from indulging himself.

"I tried," Robert confesses, taking Lyanna by surprise. "I swear, all last week I touched no one but you. Every time a whore came my way I just couldn't do it; I couldn't stop thinking of you.” This was Robert's form of a compliment, as vulgar as it was. He reaches out to hold her hands, pressing them to his lips. "I'm mad for you, Lyanna."

"That is no excuse," Lyanna returns, pulling her hands from his grasp. "What if I couldn't stop you that night? What if I didn't bite you? Do not tell me you would have come to your senses on your own."

Robert surprises her by suddenly dropping to his knees. He grabs her skirts, looking up at her with wild eyes. "I'm begging your forgiveness, Lya. I swear by the Old Gods and the New it won’t happen again.”

“It shan’t, if you didn’t drink,” Lyanna tells him, not yet willing to forgive.

He looks at her, horrified. “You’re asking me to stop drinking?” He says it as if an impossible trial had been tasked to him. Lyanna can only sigh.

“Even if I asked, you wouldn’t,” she says with a grimace. Her hand goes to his head, and she runs her fingers through his black hair. Her fist tightens around hairs at the back of his head, then she yanks, pulling his head farther back so that his gaze could not leave hers. “If you ever repeat that night, dearest Robert, I will go north with our children.” Her voice comes out low and threatening, almost a hiss. “Then you may ride to Winterfell and beg for my return no further than at its gates, as they will surely be closed to you. I’ll not stand your cruelty.” She could see his lips twitch, as if he wished to protest, but she pinned him with a glare that kept him docile. The grip on her skirts did tighten, however, and his chin dug into her belly. “Though perhaps I deserve some, I cannot stand for more than that,” she adds in a softer voice, a note more to herself than to Robert. She expected some sort of retribution for her infidelity, but not more than just some. She loosens her grip on his hair; he in turn buries his face in her middle, hungry for proximity.

His breath is warm on her abdomen, and when he speaks she feels his words reverberate throughout her body. “Let me back into your bed and heart, sweet Lyanna,” he murmurs into the cloth of her dress. “I miss you terribly.”

She caresses his head as one might do a good pup. “You may come into my bed, dearest Robert, but expect little. I may be so kind as to let you hold me, and perhaps kiss me.” He groans in disappointment, but does not protest. “As for my heart, you never left it, my love.”

Robert removes himself from her, looking up at her with elation. He rises to his feet, smiling his goofy grin down at her once he reached his full height. He was enormous, her husband, in his six-and-a-half feet, in his wild rages, in his passionate mirth, and in his heady desires. When he pulled her off her feet to plant a kiss on her mouth, Lyanna could not think of punishing him by denying him that.

“Promise me you’ll try to quit your drinking,” she whispered against his lips. “At least try, for me.”

“I promise,” he returned, and Lyanna knew he would truly make an effort, at least for some time.

He was her husband by choice, and thus she would be eternally bound to him, for better or for worse. Reflecting on it now, an instance where life was worse would surely be better than the greatest life with Rhaegar. For any life with him would be short-lived; if the gods were good, blessing them with longer life, then surely their love would be her cage.

More than anything, Lyanna hated cages. As luck would have it, so did Robert.

* * *

 

Lyanna may have forgiven, but she did not forget. She could hardly forget a promise, as the child in her still clung to them like a comforting blanket. She had let him into her bed but prohibited him from doing more than kissing her. Though he had tried more than once to rob a feel, she found herself recoiling from his hands, still remembering them as ones that aimed to harm her. After a several days of his anxious affections, Lyanna found that she wanted him as he wanted her. It was she who moved first; she needed only to pull her chemise over her head and straddle his waist before he was raring to go. And thus, their sheets were warmed as they had been hundreds of times before, and after the conclusion they wrapped around each other in a way that was welcomingly familiar.

Only a few days after, Lyanna receives the confirmation they had both been anticipating. She was with child once again, and when she announced it to Robert and her children (altogether, so as to surprise them all), she was greeted with a chorus of cheers sweeter than what she had received toppling three men at Harrenhal. Robert had grinned and gloated that he had known it from the start, but not before pulling her into his arms and kissing her full on the mouth.

Though pregnancy always meant that her training and riding would end, it did allow for some smaller pleasures instead. Robert was always gentler, more cautious, and her children learned to heed her words or face her temper. By this point, Robert was well aware of her moods during her term, and tended to avoid getting into fights with her in fear of the babe’s health. It was truly the only time Robert was entirely conscious of his words and actions, as it seemed whenever Lyanna was eager for a fight, her sharp tongue lashing out at him, he learned to take it with a set jaw. If she sobbed for no real reason, he would pull her into his arms and kiss the top of her head over and over until she quit. And Lyanna did quite like his arms.

On this particular morning, Lyanna woke up to an empty bed. She was four moons into her pregnancy, and had yet to show for it in outward appearances. But she certainly felt the impact; she could hardly open her eyes, though sun poured through her window, dancing upon her and asking her to get up. There was an ache in her bones that had her body and eyelids feel as heavy as lead.

Though she was awake, her eyes would not open. She only laid there, relishing in the silence, caught somewhere between slumber and the living. She faintly hears a creaking sound, followed by heavy footsteps. Before a kiss is planted to her lips, she knows by his musk who it is.

“Robert,” she sighs, eyes still closed. “What time is it?”

“Past noon,” he returns. She feels the bed sink beside her; when she reaches out, her hand touches his thigh, and then settles on it.

“Oh,” she mumbles back, but makes no effort to raise herself. “The children are oddly quiet,” she says after she realizes that Steffon would have surely run screaming into her chambers hours ago.

“I told them to stay away from you.” His hand covers hers, squeezing her fingers.

“Oh,” she says again, following it with a sizable yawn. Robert laughs besides her, grabbing her arm to pull her into his lap. The sudden jostling startles her, as she opens her eyes briefly to meet his before drooping closed again. “Robert,” she half-grumbles, half-yawns, before falling limp onto his chest.

“When you’ve a babe inside you you’re either yawning or my name or moaning it,” he comments with another boisterous laugh. Lyanna’s cheeks burn, but she cannot deny it; she was always either tired or eager.

"I cannot help it," she says, pouting. She feels Robert’s hand stroke her hair, his fingers running through her thick curls, getting caught in them. He did so like her hair. "Have you drank anything today?" she asks him as she always asked. He always answered the question differently; some days he'd swear he didn't when she knew he did, or he'd admit to only a cup or two; other days he would answer that he hadn't drunk a drop, and Lyanna knew when that was true. It seemed she had a knack for sensing lies, from the lips of servants to the sweet ones of a prince's.

"Not a drop, I swear it," he replies, and Lyanna knew he was speaking true.

"Good," she says with a lazy smile. She reaches for his hand, placing it on her still flat middle. "I'm so excited," she breathed, pressing her cheek into his chest.

"As am I," he admits, and she could hear the grin in his voice.

"Another little pup to add to our pack." The thought nearly drives her dizzy with anticipation. _How strange,_ she found herself musing inwardly. _For me to grow so excited over children._ Never did she ever imagine that such a thing would happen to her. Lyanna had dreams of being free, of living away from suffocating castle walls, of finding thrills by swords and horses, not babes and households. Those dreams still remained, but only as dust and ashes. Perhaps Lyanna was not as free as she wished to be, but the comfort of Robert's arms and the joy of her children's smiling faces did not constrict her, but rather expanded her heart and soul, making more room for delight in her courtly life. After all, Lyanna still rode and fought, but those activities were tempered by duty and love.

"It's a girl," Robert tells her in all confidence.

"Oh?" was all Lyanna was able to mutter before chuckling. _I think so too._

"Aye, I swear it is. I can feel it," he insists. Lyanna senses it is the truth.

"Let's not speak of that now," is what she says instead as she burrows her nose in his broad chest. "Let me sleep. I want to dream a sweet dream.”

“Of what?”

“Of spring,” she says with a serene smile. “Of our little pups running around the gardens. Of growing old with you. Of the sea.” It beat against the rock now, but at a slow, steady pace. There was no storm and no sign of one to come, and thus it was neither wild nor calm. To call it predictable would be an injustice, for in truth, a storm may come upon them at any moment, forcing them to bar the doors and listen to the wind scream and the water thrash. For now, it was docile- but only for now.

Lyanna remembered only the sounds of the sea and Robert’s beating heart before she drifted off to a second slumber.

* * *

 

She gives birth to a daughter, as they had predicted, and they name her Cassana. Her eyes are of iron, grey and dark and strong; the tufts of her on her head are black- as she grows, they curl. Her voice is a mighty force, her cries ringing out louder than her brothers’, and she suckled harder too, her soft gums biting, causing Lyanna to yelp each time she fed her.

Robert holds her in hands as if were made of glass, bringing her little face close to his as he gazed upon her, awe apparent in his bold blue eyes. Even when she fusses and cries, he is not quick to return her to Lyanna’s arms; he continues to hold her, cradling her to his chest, rocking her into calm once more. As strange as it was, there always seemed to be a reluctance to put her into her crib; Robert would hold her for as long he could, before Lyanna urged him that a bed would make for a better rest.

“She’s going to grow to be like you,” he said to Lyanna one evening as he held her body close to his. “A she-wolf.”

 _Nay,_ Lyanna wanted to reply. _She is to have the teeth of a wolf’s, with antlers tall atop her head. Two weapons, not one._

Lyanna knew this to be true, as it were true for her too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, rest assured, skeptics, that i wrote no guarantee that robert would have quit his vices. but perhaps, he might have tempered them, just for her ;)


End file.
